


Plainly Beautiful

by Aelys_Althea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Best Friends, Community: hp_nextgen_fest, Cross-Generation Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, Harry Potter Next Generation, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelys_Althea/pseuds/Aelys_Althea
Summary: Scorpius wanted. He wanted more than anything else in the world. Unfortunately, it was too late. Not the realisation – that came years ago – but acting upon it. Why had he been so foolish as to wait?





	1. Calm

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure if this was what you were hoping for, **_melodic_** , but enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this fic – it was very angsty, a little pathetic, yes, but fun nonetheless – and I hope you like reading it too. I honestly think I could explore a novel-length book with this pair. They’re gorgeous XD Thanks to the mod for hosting this fest. It’s fantastic, and I’m so looking forward to seeing the rest of the submissions!

Albus was a calm person.

That was how Scorpius had always seen him. For the entire time he'd known him, Al was the calm one of the two of them. That wasn't to say that Scorpius was particularly short-fused, or that he was quick to jump into an argument should the opportunity arise. It was just that in comparison that Al anyone would seem to fall a step or two short of tranquillity.

Scorpius had first started to suspect such a key characteristic of Al's personality from the moment they'd met. It was a pervasive impression, one that Scorpius suspected a blind man would have been able to see. It all started on the Hogwarts Express.

Scorpius saw the Potter boy sitting alone in the train compartment, gazing out the window as he awaited the last of the passengers to board and the clock to strike eleven. Scorpius nearly walked past the door of the compartment and window that peered within. A quick glance showed a single occupant, yes, but the pair of trunks suggested he was only temporarily solitary.

Scorpius wasn't a confrontational person, or at least he hadn't been when he was eleven. The Malfoy name still held somewhat negative connotations and Scorpius had always known his place, known that there would be people who looked down their noses at him for nothing but his ancestry. It didn't really make sense to him, not at that age and not when his father had done his best to shield him from most who would expose him to such loathing, but he accepted his father's words anyway. Just as he would those he'd afforded him the day before.

 _"The Potters are a good people, Scorpius. Don't make the same mistake I did by not realising that. By not... acting upon it."_

Simple words that had imposed nothing but confusion upon Scorpius. He knew the Potters were 'good people'. The entire world knew it. But his father's mistake... Draco Malfoy wasn't one to confess personal flaws. When Scorpius thought about it, he wasn't sure if he'd ever heard him speak of his own errors before. Ever.

It was that memory, that realisation more than anything, that paused Scorpius in step. It paused him as he caught a glimpse of a dark head with overgrown bangs half-turned away from him towards the window. He'd seen Albus Potter's profile numerous times before. Who in the Wizarding world hadn't?

 _Don't make the same mistake I did._

The words rung in Scorpius' ears, confusing but encouraging nonetheless. Without quite knowing why, he slid the door into the compartment open and took half a step inside.

Albus turned to look at him. Turned slowly, blinked slowly, and just as slowly tilted his head. He looked like an inquisitive puppy; Scorpius could almost see his ears pricked and tipped forwards. The smile he gave was just as incremental as every other one of his movements and for some reason it seemed to brighten the room just a little. How was he so calm, so comfortable, given their circumstances? Wasn't he nervous about going to school? About getting sorted and facing his knew housemates and starting classes and... and...

No. For some reason Albus didn't appear any of that. The impression that was afforded was almost peaceful. Accepting, as though some trigger had overridden any nervousness within it. It was thoroughly strange, yet still somehow comforting. Encouraging enough that Scorpius swallowed and took a step further into the cabin.

He stuck out a hand with all the formality his father had instilled within him. "My name's Scorpius Malfoy. It's a pleasure to meet you, Albus Potter. It's my hope that we can be friends."

Albus stared at his hand. He blinked. Then he raised his gaze to meet Scorpius' once more. Though his eyes had grown faintly confused, he still smiled. He sat up slightly in his seat and reached a hand form. The grasp he afforded Scorpius was warm and comfortable, not loose and tentative as his slightly vague expression might suggest but not too tight either.

That had been the beginning of their friendship. Of _the_ friendship, for to Scorpius it was the most important one he made throughout school. More important than those he shared with any of the rest of their Slytherin housemates, because to Scorpius' and everyone else's surprise – except, apparently, Al's – they were both sorted into Slytherin. It was more important to Scorpius than that he shared with Jacinta, his first and only girlfriend of all of sixth months in fifth year, of Rose, the Head Girl and comrade to his position of Head Boy.

It didn't take Scorpius long to deduce that it would probably be the most important he would ever have.

He grew to know Al well. Al, not Albus, because apparently he hated his full name even if the slight smile that arose whenever he stated as much suggested he was more long-sufferingly in his acceptance of it. He learned that despite the supposed cunning and ambition of all Slytherin members, Al largely lacked a competitive bone in his body, that he didn't get jealous when others beat him and that, when their O.W.L. results were sent out and Scorpius received higher grades than he, Al was genuinely happy for him.

Al was a nice person, and people just tended to like him.

He was a good student but not an avid studier.

He loved his family and spent a good portion of his afternoons just with his older brother or – more often – his younger sister when she arrived at school.

He never asked for anything, never demanded, and accepted what others offered him with a smile as though it was a gift. Because Al was a _nice_ person.

But more pronouncedly than even that, he was calm. Or at least he was calm until he... wasn't.

* * *

"It doesn't make sense."

"To you, maybe."

"I believe I just said that."

Al shrugged at Scorpius' words, turning back towards the television. He was half reclined on the couch, slumped over the arm so that his own arm dangled nearly to the floor over the side. Scorpius had unconsciously tugged Al's socked feet into his lap as soon as they'd sat down alongside one another. That was the way they were, the way they had always been. Scorpius liked to simple be in contact with Al, to touch him in a way that for some reason was comfortable. Comforting. He didn't know exactly why such was, knew he cared for Al, though simple 'care' was a vast under-exaggeration, but he didn't quite know why such simple contact would fill him with such ease. Shouldn't having another person's feet thrown all over him supposed to be weird?

It wasn't, though. Not to Scorpius. Not if it was Al.

But Scorpius hardly considered that. He wasn't watching the television either, of which some oldies movie with shoddy CGI characters that battled against humanity. Scorpius didn't even know why they watched it – Al didn't like action movies and Scorpius wasn't all that fond of television as it was. Even so, that was only a small contributing factor to that which drew Scorpius' attention towards his best friend. His most important friend.

He shook his head slowly. "I thought you liked working at the café. Didn't you say you liked working with everyone there?"

Al's face scrunched just slightly in a way that on anyone else wouldn't really have been an expression of disgruntlement at all. He blew upwards in something of a sigh that fluttered his overgrown bangs. "I did."

"Then why? Why would you switch jobs if you already liked the one you were working in?" Scorpius found himself frowning, flicking distractedly at Al's feet. "Isn't it all supposed to be saving up for your college fees?"

Al nodded, still not looking at Scorpius. It was difficult to tell if he was truly watching the movie or if he was just deliberately avoiding looking at Scorpius. It could have been either but Scorpius suspected the latter. He knew that the objections that always rose on the tip of his tongue when Al brought up his college intentions – that he should just ask for a loan from his parents, that he shouldn't put himself through the months and potential years of underpaid labour to make his own way from scratch – would be deflected. Al was like that. For all of his calmness, his tranquillity and largely unshakeable amicability, Al was stubborn. He was just like his siblings, even if it was less noticeable in him. It was another thing that Scorpius had discovered of him.

Frown deepening, Scorpius flicked pointedly at Al's toes once more. "Then why'd you quit?"

Slowly, Al drew his gaze sidelong towards him. His stare could always capture Scorpius, freeze him in place for no other reason than that it meant that the entirety of his attention was focused upon him. Scorpius would happily abandon all other attention in the world for that which Al could briefly offer him.

Dropping his chin onto his hand, Al shrugged once more. "In short? Because the job your dad's offering me pays better."

Scorpius swallowed. The job his dad was offering Al. It wouldn't have been out of courtesy that Draco had asked Al to work for him; even as nothing short of a better-paid intern, Scorpius' father wouldn't have thrown Albus Potter a bone simply because he was his son's best friend. Draco Malfoy wasn't like that. He would have seen something in Al, something in him that he thought he could use in his potion shop that was little more than a hobbyist store for a wealthy lord than a source of income, even if it did make a pretty penny. Scorpius had never had all that much time for it. His interests lay in Quidditch and since leaving school he'd been scouted for numerous potential teams before settling on the Westend Wraiths. He'd hardly had the time to consider his father's work.

He did now, though. Now that Al was involved, it suddenly took a front seat priority. Maybe Scorpius was thinking about it too much but... why? Al didn't _have_ to quit his job at the café that he had professed upon numerous occasions had a 'nice atmosphere' and he'd be happy to work for until he saved enough that doing so was unnecessary any longer. The sudden change made Scorpius uneasy.

Something in his silence must have alerted Al to his concerns, for he sighed and nudged Scorpius' thigh with one of his captured feet. "Why's it worry you so much?"

Scorpius forcibly drew his gaze from Al's slight frown towards the television. He didn't see more than vague shapes flashing across the screen. "I don't know. It just feels..."

"Is it weird that I'll be working for your dad?"

Scorpius snapped his attention back to Al probably a bit too quickly for his denial to seem entirely believable. "No. No, it's not that. Seriously, it's not. I'm just – I don't know, it's just..."

As he trailed off, Al slipped his feet from Scorpius lap and slid up the couch towards him a little. He tilted his head a little, a small smile touching his lips. "You're not a very good liar, Scorpius."

"Actually, I am," Scorpius refuted, disregarding the fact that in saying as much he he was practically confessing to his falsehood. "I'm a very practiced liar indeed. All Slytherins are."

"That we are."

"With the exception of you, of course."

"Hey, I resent that."

There was absolutely no resentment in Al's tone to emphasise his words. Scorpius couldn't help but smile, even if his uneasiness persisted. "It's true. You're way too innocent to be a Slytherin. I always wondered how you even got sorted into the same house as me."

"Hm," Al hummed, shrugging a shoulder. As his gaze drifted sightlessly back towards the television, his expression became wistfully contemplative for a moment in a way that Scorpius found a little confusing. He disregarded it a moment later, however, when Al turned back to him. "If it really bothers you, I don't have to do it. It just seemed interesting, and I was always sort of good at Potions at school."

That much was true, Scorpius couldn't deny. And in thinking that, he knew he couldn't ask that of Al either. He shook his head. "No, it's fine. It's just... my best friend working with my father is..." He sighed. "I'll get over it."

"Yeah, go out and fly to clear your head," Al teased, though with more than a touch of sincerity. He, more than anyone, knew that Scorpius sought solace in flight.

"No, seriously, I will. And you never know, having you around might actually cheer Father up a little."

Al frowned slightly in his usual vague concern. Al was always ready to express concern for other people. "Is he still upset that your mum left him?"

Scorpius nodded. He personally wasn't all that affected by it – in his opinion he was surprised that Astoria had remained married to Draco for so long. He'd long anticipated that a divorce sat upon the horizon before it had happened in his final year of school, just as he was sure his parents had known it was inevitable. And yes, Scorpius' father was still hung up on the end of his marriage, but it was the loss of marriage itself more than his wife that seemed to affect him. Draco hadn't been in love with Astoria any longer. Not for years.

"You're the kind of person that tends to cheer people up," Scorpius said, smiling at Al.

"I think you're confusing me with Lily," Al replied. "James always likens me more to Auntie Luna than anything."

"I like your Aunt Luna. She's nice."

"She's vague and kind of a little strange."

"So are you."

Al smirked, more amused than offended at Scorpius' words. He snatched a pillow from where it had been kicked off the couch to the floor and whacked Scorpius with it. Or at least whacked as much as Al was capable of, which wasn't very much. Scorpius doubted he had any more of an aggressive bone in his body than he did a competitive one. "You're an arse," he said, rising to his feet.

"You love me."

"Of course," he replied, calling over his shoulder as he made his way towards the kitchen. It was an offhanded comment, one that had been voiced more times than Scorpius could recall, but he would always, always have to tamp down on the longing that rose within him at the sound of them. Just as he struggled to avert his gaze from Al's waist as he straightened his shirt over the top of his jeans, from his casual, drifting step as he made from the room. Al didn't think like that about him, didn't feel the same way as Scorpius did. He hadn't asked Al, but he knew that much.

To the sound of clattering in the kitchen from where Al was likely raiding the pantry, Scorpius turned back towards the television. Not to watch so much as to stare listlessly and think. He didn't care about Al working with Draco, not really, but it still felt strange somehow. Strange that Al would be working for his father, that Al would be with Draco when Scorpius wasn't around. He didn't quite know why it bothered him but for the first time Scorpius wished that his time wasn't so consumed by training sessions for the Wraiths. If he could just be there, even if only for the first few days Al worked with Draco, then –

"Goddammit, I'd hoped you'd be gone by now."

Turning towards the sound of James' voice, Scorpius immediately adopted a bored expression. James Potter, star Chaser of the Holyhead Harpies mixed team, stood in the door to the hallway directly across from the kitchen. He slouched against the doorframe, a scowl upon his face and arms folded. He was a big man, larger than his father and subsequently Al who resembled Harry Potter the most out of his children but the absence of glasses. Even so, Scorpius had never really found him intimidating. A rival, certainly, but never discomforting.

Leaning back into the couch, Scorpius attempted to channel his inner Al in appearing as calm and comfortable as possible. "Good afternoon, James. How was training?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" James grumbled, scowl deepening with a curl of his lip. It was no secret that he disliked Scorpius. That dislike had been nothing but disregard when they'd been at school together, even with their Quidditch rivalry, but it had spawned into something greater since they'd both started playing on a professional level. Scorpius didn't dislike James, exactly. He was a bit of a prat, true, but he could put up with him for Al's sake. Al thought James a prat too, but he said as much with unwarranted affection.

Shrugging, Scorpius turned his attention back towards the television. "Not particularly, actually. I was merely making polite conversation."

"Why are you always here?" James said bluntly. Scorpius could hear the snarl in his voice. "Whenever I come home you're _always_ here."

"Believe it or not, I actually visit to see Al, not spy on you," Scorpius replied.

"I have to question that."

"What, my eight year friendship with your brother?"

"No," James spat. "The sincerity of your claim. Everyone knows the Wraiths have used underhanded tactics in the past, so I would expect you to be just the – "

"James."

Immediately, Scorpius drew his attention towards the kitchen. Al stood in the doorway, face blank and a bowl of popcorn in his hand. So that was what he'd been doing; Scorpius hardly spared the observation a thought. He couldn't, not when the entire room seemed to focus upon Al.

He crackled. He seemed to radiate energy in a way that belied the blankness of his expression, the calmness he always wore and even now emitted in a fashion of sorts. Scorpius knew what it was, just as he knew James registered it from his uneasy shifting in place.

When Al got angry, he didn't shout. He didn't rage and accuse or demand and throw blows. It was his magic that responded, rising in a whirlwind around him that was nearly tangible for its thickness. Just like right then. Scorpius could _feel_ Al's magic. Years of experience as Al's friend told him that he was angry even before he continued speaking in a deceptively mild tone. Very angry.

"What the fuck, James?"

James shifted again. Scorpius heard more than saw it for he couldn't look away from Al. His expression smooth, his eyes half-lidded and head tilted just slightly. He would have seemed casual, entirely calm, if not for the magic. Scorpius had always been a little enchanted by such displays. If it wasn't for what it meant, what unseen emotions it represented, he would have been almost sad to witness it so rarely.

"Al, I didn't mean –"

"James. What the actual fuck?"

Scorpius heard James audibly swallow. "It's nothing, Al. Just some... friendly banter."

"Friendly banter," Scorpius echoed. He wasn't sure if he was agreeing with James' words or mocking them.

Al's magic welled once more, even if the only change in his stance was a slight slouch into his hip. It rippled through the air, undulating like a wave of heat. "We talked about this."

"We did –"

"You said you wouldn't do it anymore."

"I know, I –"

"You promised me you wouldn't, James."

Scorpius nearly winced in sympathy for James. That tone was... it was almost painful to hear, and more because it was utterly devoid of emotion but for the magic that braided through it. James wasn't intimidating, but when Al – calm, vague, soothing Al – was angry, he very, very much was. Scorpius couldn't blame James for how subdued his reply was. "Sorry, Al," He mumbled. He sounded like a thoroughly chastised child.

Al was silent for a moment. Then he walked slowly back to the couch and lowered himself to the seat at Scorpius' side. "Bugger off, James."

James left.

The magic remained crackling around Al for nearly an hour after that. Scorpius slowly eased himself back into a semblance of casualness at Al's side, while Al, for all his ensuing anger, apparent from that fizzing magic, appeared to do the same. He plucked at the popcorn, slumped back in his seat and watched the movie as though he was entirely comfortable. As if he hadn't just cowed his older and significantly larger brother into running away with his tail between his legs.

Scorpius had always been a little in awe of Al for that. Al was a calm person, but over the years Scorpius had come to realise that such tranquillity was something of a veil he'd drawn over himself, masking a hidden potential. Scorpius didn't know why, but that was what he'd learned. Beneath that veil, only rarely rising, lay any and all of the contained anger, the frustration, the disgruntlement and disgust and objection that he never spoke. That he never even seemed to feel.

When Al broke his calm, the whole world seemed to grow wary.


	2. Quiet

Albus was a quiet person.

It didn't take Scorpius long into their friendship to discern as much. Truly, it would have been more remarkable had he missed such a pronounced aspect of his friend. Al was calm, yes, and that calmness entailed a certain sense of muteness most of the time.

He rarely spoke up in class.

He wouldn't often speak unless spoken to, though Scorpius was pleased to find that over the years he seemed more inclined to do so with Scorpius specifically.

He rarely seemed to feel the need to voice his thoughts just for the sake of it. It made study sessions consistently yet comfortably silent.

It was no surprise, then, that when the time came for the sixth years to start practicing magic wordlessly, Al picked it up the quickest out of anyone in their year. Scorpius didn't think himself arrogant to claim that he was better at school than Al; he did get higher grades than him, after all. It was the simple truth, one that Al acknowledged readily enough and with more grace than Scorpius knew himself capable of.

Yet Al had managed wordless magic on his first day of attempting. Scorpius would always remember the day that old McGonagall had praised him for the speed of his achievement. Al had flushed for one of the few times that Scorpius had ever seen him, ducking his head with shoulders hunching as though discomforted by the praise and attention.

Scorpius knew it was otherwise. He saw that Al's flush was more of pleasure than embarrassment. He saw his friend's eyes shine even as they turned downards, saw him struggle to suppress the smile that threatened to twitch across his lips. It was the first time that Scorpius had realised it: yes, Al might be quiet, he might lack competitiveness and generally let comments pass him by, but...

Al loved to be noticed. He didn't seek it actively, always letting others steal the limelight if it was available, but there it was. Scorpius felt like something of a heartless fool that he'd never noticed it before. He supposed that perhaps he should have done, for no one could live alongside James and Lily Potter, two of the loudest people Scorpius knew, and receive all that much attention for themselves. No child or teenager – no sane one, anyway – wanted absolutely none of that for themselves. Even Al.

Scorpius would have resolved to focus as much of his own upon Al as he could spare at that point if he hadn't already been doing so for years. Since he'd realised he had to break up with Jacinta, in fact.

Scorpius had never noticed because Al never said anything. He never complained, never asked for help or requested attention as Scorpius abruptly realised he silently longed for. Al just let whatever degree of such gifts offered him come in their own time, if and when they would. It annoyed Scorpius just a little that Al wouldn't ask, that he was so grounded in his quietness that he wouldn't speak up.

That wasn't to say that Al couldn't, however. It didn't mean that he was necessarily borderline mute, that his voice itself had not the capacity to be loud. Because Al could be loud. He could be very, very loud when he wanted to be.

The first time Scorpius was confronted with that fact was in the first game of Hogwarts' Quidditch tournament he'd ever attended. He and Al were already fast friends, almost exclusive to the rest of their housemates though not from a dismissive or superior perspective. They simply clicked better than they did with anyone else. Than everyone else.

Scorpius had intended to travel down to the pitch early so that he could get a good seat. He was an avid lover of Quidditch, a love instilled in him from a young age by his father yet one that had blossomed naturally by itself. It vexed him that he wasn't allowed to try out for the team in his first year. That archaic rule was still in place, even given the precedent Al's father set in his first year.

Double standards had never been so unfair.

They weren't the first into the grandstands, as it turned out. The reason for that lay in that despite trekking down the grounds to the Quidditch pitch as soon as they'd finished breakfast, Al paused beside the locker rooms and planted himself firmly and immovably. Scorpius nearly left him behind in his climb up the grandstand steps; naturally, Al hadn't said anything to call him to a stop.

When he did notice, Scorpius hastened back to Al's side with a frown. "What are you doing? What's wrong?"

Al shook his head. "Nothing wrong. I just wanted to wish James good luck."

"Your brother?"

Al nodded. "It's his first game playing on the team. He was practically guaranteed a spot when he got into second year."

Scorpius would have been more disgruntled by that fact – for that too was unfair – had he not been promised the same from the Slytherin team. Not unfairly, he considered; Scorpius knew he was a good Quidditch player. A great player even, especially for his age. The current captain of the Slytherin team was a friend of a friend that he'd played upon several instances throughout his childhood. He knew Scorpius' abilities and had made sure to assure him of his future position as soon as he was old enough to assume it.

Scorpius glanced over his shoulder at the shadowed doorway leading to the grandstand steps. They were ridiculously tall, a bit of a climb to reach the top of which afforded a prime view of the pitch. As Scorpius watched, he saw two third years of his own house disappear into the doorway, a trio of second years a moment later. If they didn't make a move soon, they wouldn't be able to get front row seats.

Scorpius turned a frown back to Al. "Do you have to wait? I mean, do you have to talk to him?"

Glancing back towards Scorpius from where he'd turned his scarf-buried chin back up the hill towards the castle, Al raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"We won't get good seats if we don't go now."

"Oh. Oh, well, you can go up if you'd like. I just wanted to wish him good luck..."

Scorpius sighed a little exasperatedly. He'd learned over the past few months that though Al didn't openly show it all that often he was genuinely a nice person. He cared for others, for his family, and it was a feature that appeared largely untarnished by cunning and ambition. Not for the first time Scorpius wondered how the hell Al had been sorted into Slytherin. "You know he probably won't even have time to talk to you. You saw the Gryffindor team at breakfast. They were practically going berserk."

Shrugging, Al glanced back up the hill. "I know. Whatever. I just wanted to try anyway."

Scorpius fought with himself briefly. He and Al had been practically joined at the hip in their first months of school and it felt somehow strange to sort of abandon him now. Even so... "I'll save you a seat."

Al spared him a smile. "Thanks."

Scorpius turned and made his way into the dark depths of the base of the grandstand. One of the Slytherin grandstands it was, bedecked in green and silver drapery. When Scorpius spilled out onto the heights, it was to peer gleefully over the edge of the railing – the very, very tall railing that probably had some sort of Barrier Charm placed upon it – and grin down the drop. He'd always had a head for heights. Maybe it was because he'd practically been born onto a broomstick.

There were only two seats left in the front row, a fact that left Scorpius hastening to claim them as he patted himself on the back for his forethought. In the chill morning air, he found himself fighting off more than one fellow housemate who sought to steal the seat he reserved for Al. Scorpius applied to the best of his ability what his mother had always termed the 'famous Malfoy scowl'. It worked a treat, sending many a grumbling upperclassman huffing to find alternative seating.

Al appeared moments before the game was about to begin. Moments, Scorpius knew, because Coach Short was already stepping onto the pitch, the crate of quaffle, bludgers and snitch bobbing in the air behind him. He was a paradox of a name, the Flying teacher was. No one could miss his entrance. Scorpius secretly suspected he had some giant blood in his lineage. Perhaps troll.

"Did you get to see him?" Scorpius asked Al as, puffing slightly from the climb, his friend settled into the seat at his side.

Al nodded, smiling briefly. "Yeah, just for a second. Mum and Dad were there too."

"Your parents are here?" Scorpius said, raising an eyebrow.

Al raised his own right back. "Well yeah. It's his first game. Don't tell me your mum and dad wouldn't come to see you when you play for the first time next year."

That, Scorpius wouldn't deny. At least for his father, Quidditch lover that he was too. Scorpius nodded, conceding the truth, even as he bit back a smile at Al's offhanded suggestion. Scorpius might accept it as inevitable, but it was nice to hear that his best friend had as much confidence in his future seat on the team.

The game begun in a flurry, with the blast of Short's whistle and screaming chants of encouragement from the audience. Slytherin versus Gryffindor was always a significant game of the season for more than just the fact that it was the first to be played. The rivalry between Slytherins and Gryffindors was legendary. Scorpius was more than happy to add his own cries to the mix.

His attention jumped, flickering and darting between players and followed their flight as MacInley passed the quaffle to Jossinbelly, as Carter lobbed a bludger at the lead Gryffindor Chaser, as captain Hink saved a spectacular goal. Scorpius couldn't draw his gaze away – at least until it was forcibly drawn by Al. In his first involvement of the game, Al's brother James dove in an admittedly admirable swoop and snatched the spinning Quaffle from the air. He was shooting back towards Hink at the Slytherin goals in an instant.

Scorpius barely noticed, because Al –

"Go, James! Go, go, go!"

Scorpius wasn't the only Slytherin to snap his attention towards Al with rapid blinks and confusion. Al, who had risen from his seat to lean against the railing as James sped past. His face was slightly flushed, his fringe swept for perhaps the first time from his brow by the wind and one fingerless-gloved hand raised and waving in support of his words.

It was ridiculous, really. A Slytherin, at a Slytherin match, cheering for a Gryffindor. It should have made Scorpius feel indignant, disgruntled, angry even at the thought that Al supported anyone but his own team.

But he wasn't. If anything, the sight of his friend, his usually quiet, calm and reserved friend, calling out his enthusiasm drew a small, surprised smile from Scorpius. Al's excitement would have been muted by anyone else's standards. His smile was only a little wider than usual, and even his waving wasn't all that pronounced. But his voice – his voice was something other. Scorpius would never have suspected that he could be so loud.

He wasn't the only one to stare with incredulity, then bemusement, then even a little affectionate exasperation at Al throughout the rest of the match. Scorpius could understand that; it was something totally detaching from the situation to see Al make himself so pronounced. To stand out rather than keep to the silent, slightly vague back seats. It was like seeing a mermaid out of water.

"Wooo! Go, James!"

"Watch the bludger! Carter'll try knock your head off next time for sure!"

"Don't fall off your broom or Lily will win!"

"Better luck next time! He's really good!"

Al's calls varied, sounded almost as though he thought James could actually hear him. The fact that his contributions were entirely rational – for yes, Carter did nearly try and strike his head from his shoulders, and yes, Hink was a very good keeper – made it seem even less objectionable that he was rooting for the opposite team. It was almost as though he was complimenting the Slytherin team with his encouragement. Scorpius actually found himself adding his own cries to the mix. Not in support of James, of course, but something of a commentary nonetheless.

The Gryffindors won. Only by a hair, but they won nonetheless. Al was the only one in the grandstand that cheered, the only voice that uttered anything but a resigned and disheartened groan of defeat. No one seemed to care all that much, though, even if Al did receive a few eye rolls for his applause as the players drifted to the ground. Scorpius doubted he even noticed.

Their descent from the grandstand found Al returned to his usual calm, quiet self. His cheeks were still a little flushed, his overlong dark hair a little windblown, but otherwise he was entirely the same as he always was. Scorpius found himself shaking his head over the transformation a little confusedly.

"He did quite well, though, didn't he?" Al was asking Scorpius when they stepped from the shade of the grandstand and began to make their way back towards the castle amidst their housemates. "For a first game, I thought he did pretty well."

Scorpius shrugged. Al was right, of course; James had played well and though he would have been hesitant to admit it aloud he thought that James would likely be as skilled as Scorpius was himself. It didn't help that they were both chasers, either. "Yeah, I guess."

"I wonder if Lily will keep up her end of the bet," Al pondered aloud, eyes drifting towards where the Gryffindors were crowded across the other side of the pitch, surrounding their teammates. "I don't really care either way, but I guess it's good that she wasn't proved right."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Is this what you yelled out before? About not letting Lily win or whatever?"

Al nodded, pausing in step with his gaze still turned towards the Gryffindors. Their Slytherin housemates parted around them as Scorpius stopped alongside him. "Yeah, Lily bet he'd fall off his broom the first match. Like Dad did his second year."

"Is this a family tradition or something, then?"

"Not hardly. Mum's never fallen off her broom." Al flashed Scorpius a smile. "Lily just wanted James to look like an idiot."

In that moment, Scorpius almost wished that James had fallen off his broom. He didn't know why, but for some reason, though Al's cheering itself hadn't bothered him so much, the fact that it was _James_ that had been the recipient of that cheering... it irked him for some reason.

Scorpius was distracted from imagining the Gryffindor chaser tumbling from his broom – which a very pretty picture it made indeed – when Al touched his arm briefly. "Hey, sorry, do you mind if I just duck over and congratulate him? I won't be a second or – I guess you could come if you want?"

Scorpius wrinkled his nose at Al's suggestion, shaking his head. "No thanks, I'll leave the congratulations just to you."

Al's smile was knowing and Scorpius thought he probably knew exactly why he didn't want to come. Or at least had an inkling that Scorpius' sentiments towards the Gryffindors for their victory weren't quite as pure and companionable as Al's own. "Sure thing. You can go back up to the castle if you'd like."

Scorpius shook his head once more with a shrug. "No, it's okay. I'll wait."

Al nodded his acceptance before spinning on his heel and trotting across the grounds, his dark robes snapping behind him. Scorpius watched him go with a slightly wistful thought. He watched as Al – his new and _best_ friend Al – hastened to his brother's side, fell into place beside his mother and father who had already arrived there, a black and green smudge against gold and red. Strangely enough, he didn't look as out of place as perhaps he should have done.

Scorpius made a decision after that. He desperately wanted to be on the Quidditch team, would be if Hink got his way, but he made a new commitment after that. Al could cheer his lungs out, would raise his voice louder than he did in any other situation for his brother in an urging towards triumph.

Scorpius vowed in that moment that he'd strive for Al to do the same for him.

* * *

The first time Scorpius heard it, it filled him with nauseous dread. With horror.

He shouldn't have heard it. Not like that. Scorpius had been dreaming of hearing that sound, of hearing _Al_ making such sounds, for years now. It shouldn't have been through a wall, through a door. It shouldn't have been with someone else.

It definitely shouldn't have been with his father.

Al still slept over at Scorpius' house, at Malfoy Manor, every other week. It was something of a tradition, just to make sure that they kept touch even if such a precaution was unnecessary. Scorpius made it unnecessary. Al himself still lived at his own parents' house, though he claimed he was contemplating finding his own place in short order. Scorpius couldn't think of anything better than moving out with his best friend and the object of his unrequited love for years now, but he didn't want to push the subject. Al was seeking independence and newness. He didn't need to be weighted down by Scorpius, even if Scorpius knew Al would never see it as such.

Scorpius woke in the middle of the night, as he was want to do on occasion in the summer months for the _intense fucking heat,_ and clambered from bed barely bothering to open his eyes. It was through a haze of grogginess, of sleep-addled weariness, that he crept quietly from his room and down the corridor. He didn't want to wake Al, who'd been allocated his own room in Malfoy Manor years ago right next to Scorpius'. He was basically an honorary member of the family.

Scorpius could have called for a house elf to serve him. He could have, and probably would have on any other night, except that on the stinking hot nights that he awoke grumbling for the heat, he found that the relative coolness of the kitchen was a welcome relief and often chilled his feet on the cold tiles for a few minutes before climbing the stairs back up to his bedroom. Not that the house elves didn't fuss when he stumbled in at somewhere around midnight in nothing but thin pyjamas.

"What is Master Scorpius doing up and about at this hour?!" Nitty squealed, fluttering her bony fingers and flapping her ears in distress as she raced across the kitchen towards him. She wasn't the only house elf awake, and Olly was right behind her, tugging on his own ears and nearly tripping over himself in his haste to speed to Scorpius' side.

Scorpius paused just inside the doorway. He didn't think that the house elves truly claimed the kitchen as their territory – they hadn't such a possessive trait – but at times they seemed to be nothing short of horrified when one of their masters descended to the wide room of white-tiled floors and sparkling clean bench tops. The smell of baking bread already hung in the air; Scorpius had to wonder just how early they started the day's baking sometimes. Or at least he would have had he been more awake.

Rubbing a hand across his forehead, Scorpius sighed. He squinted down at the house elves twitching before him in distress, eyes still straining against the relative brightness of the candlelit kitchen. "I was just coming to get a glass of water," he mumbling.

Both house elves squeaked again in synchrony, Olly immediately scampering in a circle and darting across the room. Nitty shook her head mournfully. "Master Scorpius should be calling for his elves to get him his drinks. Master Scorpius should be abed, not wandering about the manor at night."

"Really, I'm more than capable of getting my own –"

"What is Nitty to be doing if she doesn't get master his drinks when he needs them!" Nitty interrupted wringing her hands. Of all of the Malfoy house elves, she was one of the most neurotic, the most persistent when it came to serving, and all the rest of the elves fell beneath her pervasive, blanketing subservience when she reigned terror upon the kitchens. The others usually simply let Scorpius get his own drink when he said he was going to, even if they did twitch as if it pained them to allow as much.

Sighing, Scorpius rubbed his knuckles across his forehead once more. "If you really want to, fine. Whatever. I'd like a glass of water –"

Olly appeared before him with a glass before Scorpius could even finish his request, condensation already fogging the surface. Biting back another sigh, Scorpius took it from him with a nod. He paused for a moment longer, glanced between the two elves looking up at him expectantly, before taking a sip. The pair seemed to deflate as though relieved the simple glass of water met his standard.

"Alright then. I'm going back to bed," Scorpius said, already turning with a shake of his head and eye roll of his eyes. For whatever reason, Scorpius had never quite taken to house elves and using them as servants as his father suggested they liked to be treated. Perhaps it was simply because half of them had been his only childhood playmates.

"Master Scorpius will be calling Nitty if master is needing more water," the house elf called after him. "Master Scorpius will remember!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll remember," Scorpius replied without turning. Nitty hadn't been a childhood friend. She'd been a demandingly loving nanny for as long as Scorpius could remember. "Goodnight."

He made his way through the dark walls of the manor, the floorboards creaking beneath his steps just slightly. The house always seemed larger at night, almost ominous, as though it carried the shadows of the past within its very timbers. Maybe it really did. Scorpius wouldn't put it past the ancient house. He shuffled up stairs, sipping from his glass to savour the blessed chill of icy water and ignoring the grumbling portraits of his ancestors that he passed. They were always grumbling. It wasn't anything new.

It was probably because he hadn't been able to linger in the kitchen that Scorpius' feet look him on the longer route back to his own rooms, the route that passed almost every other room in the manor, his father's rooms being one of them. It was as he slipped past the closed door that he heard it.

He heard the moans. He heard the heavy breathing, the grunts, the faint squeak of a bed that protested beneath movement. When he did, Scorpius paused in step. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear his father fucking anyone – because that was very clearly what he was doing – but more than that he didn't... he didn't want to hear...

Scorpius had seen the way that Al looked at Draco. He saw him stare when he thought no one else was looking, ducking his head when he noticed Scorpius staring at him in turn. What Al probably didn't realise was that Draco stared at him just as much. Not in love or adoration, or even affection, which would have in some ways almost been better. It was with pure desire, with lust that Scorpius saw Draco gaze upon his best friend.

Scorpius didn't know when it had started. Before Al had started working for him? After? Sometime in the six months since? He didn't know, wasn't sure, and was similarly unsure if he wanted to know. All he knew was that for the first time in his life Scorpius truly hated his father.

Draco had the one thing in the world that Scorpius wanted the most.

As Scorpius paused outside of his father's door, he could almost have pretended it was someone else. He'd never heard direct evidence to support his suspicions before. He could overlook reality if he truly forced himself to, even if it was all just a farce. Or he would have been able to had he not heard those two fateful words.

"Mr Malfoy..."

It hurt.

It hurt to hear.

Those words, breathless, barely audible. Scorpius immediately felt himself torn between rage and disgust. What. The fuck? Even when his father was fucking him, he still told Al to refer to him with professional deference? How fucking messed up was that? Scorpius clung to that thought in a vain attempt to shake the echo of the words from his ears, to rid them of the gasp that they were embedded in, the moan that was positively sinful, almost pleading and the grunts that followed.

Scorpius didn't want to think about that.

He didn't want to think.

He didn't want to –

_Stop._

Squeezing his glass so tightly he would have been unsurprised had it shattered, Scorpius strode back towards his room. He was biting his lip so fiercely that it would have been painful had he spared it a moment's thought. He was very much awake now, awake enough that he could see the hallway in all its detail, see Al's door as he passed it. Al's closed door, where Al was no longer sleeping. Because Al was...

Al was...

Scorpius slammed into his room, swinging the door shut hard enough that his father should have been able to hear it from his room. Should have, and should have known what it meant. Scorpius fucking hoped he knew what it meant, that Draco had paused in the act of _fucking his best friend_ and taken stock of what he was doing. Al was his _friend_ , but more than that, he was the person that Scorpius had been in love with for three whole years now. Probably longer, actually, even if he hadn't realised it.

How could Draco do that? Even if he hadn't known, he _shouldn't have done that_.

That bastard.

That fucking bastard.

Scorpius slumped against the door, head rocking against the hardwood and jostling as he slid to the ground. He could feel the pain in his lip now, though it felt negligible compared to that which was tearing through his chest. The glass – the empty glass, he noticed detachedly – slipped from his hand and rolled onto the floor. It didn't shatter. That thought seemed somehow so unfair. It should have shattered. Everything was unfair.

Scorpius had suspected. He'd suspected but dearly hoped he'd been wrong. That Al wouldn't do that, wouldn't succumb to Draco's whims and offer himself as the pure outlet for pleasure. Because that's all it was, Scorpius knew. Draco didn't love people, not romantically. Scorpius wondered if he'd ever even truly loved his wife.

Draco certainly didn't love Al, and he'd taken him anyway.

Scorpius squeezed his eyes closed, but it did little to vanquish the image playing out before his mind's eye. Of Al sprawled on the bed, naked and gasping and begging for release, of his calm torn from his expression and replaced with one of passion. Of Draco as he leaned over him, grazing his hands along his skin, planting loveless kisses that didn't deserve to touch, pressing atop him and – 

Scorpius didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about his father – he hated him, _hated him_ – and Al. Worse than that, he didn't want to think about the fact that Al had agreed to it, that he'd said yes when Draco had asked him. Because though Scorpius loathed the man in that moment, he knew Draco wouldn't have taken what wasn't offered. Thief though he was, it was only a theft from Scorpius. A theft of what had never been his.

Even more than all of that, however, Scorpius didn't want to think about how Al had chosen anyone but him. How it was anyone but Scorpius who kissed him, who held him and was held in return. It wasn't right, and he found sobs welling in his throat at the realisation of the truth.

The sound of Al's moans, of his gasped words rippled into Scorpius' ears once more. When Al wanted to be heard, he wasn't so quiet. And sometimes he wasn't all that quiet even when he wanted to be.

At least, Scorpius hoped he hadn't wanted it as much as he'd sounded like he had.


	3. Subdued

Albus was a subdued person.

No, perhaps that wasn't correct. Perhaps it would have been better to say that he was withdrawn, but even that didn't seem entirely accurate. If Scorpius had to truly describe his best friend, the person he'd been in love with for years, he would say that he was reserved. A bit introverted, contained, thoughtful and careful with his actions. Even with relative spontaneity, Al's actions always had just a hint of restraint to them, as though he were skirting the edge of his self- imposed boundaries and merely peeking over the edge of them rather than climbing the whole way.

He would get angry on the rare occasion, would break his incessant calm, but it was always in a slow, deliberate and, though intimidating, always controlled manner.

He would cheer for his brother when he played Quidditch, cheered for Scorpius too since the first time he played on the Slytherin team, but for some reason Scorpius was always given the impression that he never tipped his enthusiasm to the brink. There was always that final tentativeness, that hesitancy that wasn't grounded in nervousness or apprehension but was merely... thoughtful.

It took Scorpius years to deduce a possible conclusion for such careful consideration, for Al's subdued approach and why he never fully expressed himself. In short, that conclusion he founded was sorely saddening.

Al didn't want – no, he was _scared_ of people hating him.

Scorpius actually decided such was the root cause for his quietness, his reluctance to speak, his endless support and compassion and good-naturedness, before he realised that it was probably mostly driven by Al's need to be loved. Because that was what it was. At first Scorpius had thought it was attention that Al sought, and maybe it was just a little bit, but more pronouncedly than that...

Al didn't demand attention but he wanted it.

He didn't ask to be loved but he needed it.

Scorpius wondered just how dominating his siblings had been in his household that Al so silently yet desperately wanted. For he did; that much Scorpius had decided. When he was looking out for it, he saw it. He saw the momentary pause before Al replied to any words spoken to him, saw the swirling of his thoughts and witnessed the reply that was always positive, always favourable, always _nice_. Even if it was undeserved, Al was always nice. It was one of the main reasons why, even as a Slytherin, he was probably one of the most liked people in the entire school by fourth year. Scorpius had been a little surprised to hear Al's cousin Rose claim as much until he really considered it.

She was right. Everyone liked Al. Calm, quiet, subdued and thoroughly nice Al. Because he was. He was all of that, but mostly, quite simply, Scorpius decided that Al was nice. He didn't have a cruel bone in his body, not even when angry, and whether such was his natural personality or one he had assumed in pursuit of the favour of others Scorpius didn't know. It saddened him at times that he didn't but no matter how he poked and prodded that was the reality of it.

Al was a nice person. He could never say no to _anyone_. Despite his reservations, despite his seeming inability to ever leap into anything without pause and consideration, when a request was made of him Al always obliged.

It infuriated Scorpius.

Such frustration was likely the main drive for the fight that Scorpius first saw Al really crack. That he first saw his hesitancy, his slow thoughtfulness and deliberate intention shatter to pieces. Scorpius would never quite forgive himself for that, even if he was in many ways thankful for the chance to be shown such a rare sight.

It was in sixth year that it happened. The end of sixth year, in which Scorpius found himself perhaps the most agitated that he had ever been. As the exam period crept forth and tensions, as usual, were high, Scorpius found himself twitching and on edge for a number of reasons. Exams, however, were the least of his problems.

He'd broken up with Jacinta just after Christmas. He'd ended it as kindly as he could yet in a way that had still left her resentful of him because, from her perspective, they had been going _perfectly_. Scorpius couldn't really dispute that. He didn't have a problem with Jacinta; truly, he did like her a lot, and they got on well. After Al, she was the Slytherin he felt closest to in the school.

And yet that was the heart of the issue. She was after Al. She would always be after Al. The more Scorpius pondered that and the more he realised his feelings behind that reality, the more he knew he had to end it.

Jacinta's glares stabbed him piercingly for the first month of the new year, a weight upon his shoulders that was indeed heavy but not impossible to endure. Those glares had tapered off over the weeks until they were nothing more than the distantly respectful housemates that Scorpius had always been with practically everyone.

It wasn't so much that which was Scorpius' issue. It wasn't that he was struggling with his studies, or juggling to manage quidditch practice and classes alongside his prefect duties. Mostly, it was Al.

Al, was the same as always. Al, who hadn't wavered from his loyal friendship from Scorpius once, not distancing himself the slightest even when Scorpius had first begun dating Jacinta. He was truly grateful for that fact as Scorpius didn't think he would give up their friendship for anything, but in many ways it vexed him too. It irritated him, because when he thought about it, Scorpius _wanted_ Al to act differently. No, that wasn't exactly right. He wanted Al to be jealous. It wasn't the reason he'd begun dating Jacinta, but over time it had become one that maintained the relationship he had with his first and only girlfriend.

Al wasn't jealous. He didn't seem surprised when Scorpius had told him they were dating, had merely offered his small smile, cocked his head and said, "That's great. I'm happy for you, Scorpius". Just like that. No undue emotion, no surprise, no abrupt withdrawal, which Scorpius would admit he had feared. Al acknowledged it, accepted it, and accommodated it.

It was just the same when Scorpius broke up with Jacinta. _That_ was the real reason Scorpius was so frustrated at the end of sixth year, that Al wasn't acting any differently. He didn't immediately realise the feelings that Scorpius had for him, feelings that Scorpius himself had only just realised he felt, had only just realised how deep, how vast, how all encompassing they were. How had Scorpius overlooked them? He didn't know, but surely Al couldn't have too.

Apparently, he was wrong on that count. Al was smart, but apparently not any more perceptive than Scorpius was on the matter.

Scorpius didn't even know how their fight had started, though he knew essentially why. It was more of a one-sided fight than anything, with Scorpius being the instigator, the continuer and the concluder. He would carry the image of Al's expression in his mind for the rest of his life: it was just short of blank, eyebrows slightly raised, mouth fallen a little open, and eyes blinking rapidly in mounting surprise. For some reason, that surprise only made Scorpius angrier.

"Scorpius," Al said, a little waveringly. "I don't... why does it bother you? Why does it bother you _now_?"

Scorpius clicked his tongue, uttering something that was nearly a growl as he turned to glare at the silent dormitory in frustration. The empty dormitory, thankfully, swathed in greens and greys and blacks and absent of fellow housemates. Scorpius would reflect later upon that fact and thank Merlin that no one was around to hear his stupidity. His pettiness. His childishness.

When he turned back to Al, he found himself glaring fiercely enough that Al actually drew back slightly. "What makes you think it's just now?"

Al shrugged slightly, guardedly. There was wariness in his gaze to that Scorpius didn't immediately register. It would be something else that he would regret. "I've always spent time with other people. And Rose and I have been studying in the library coming up to exams for years. I don't understand why – "

"Yeah, of course you wouldn't," Scorpius drawled. "Because you're just perfectly happy to share that fun-loving kindness of yours with everyone, aren't you?"

"What are you -?"

"Have you ever thought that maybe you're just too nice to other people, Al? That maybe you shouldn't feel like you _have_ to be?" Scorpius found his hands gripping almost painfully upon the lapels of his robes. "The fact that you have a schedule for making sure you see people is just sad."

"That's never bothered you before either," Al said, his voice small. Definitely subdued.

"Maybe it has. Maybe I just haven't said anything until now."

Al's chin had dropped, tucking to his chest as his brow scrunching behind his bangs and eyes flickered downwards. He looked thoroughly worried, lost, confused, but Scorpius wasn't in the headspace to consider it then, to feel guilty for inducing such a rare response. He was angry. No, more correctly, he was jealous. Jealous like Al should have been but never, ever was.

Why did Al have to be as nice to everyone else as he was to Scorpius? Scorpius was his best friend. He should be the _exception_ , not the addition. Not the precedent that all others should measure up to. He should receive more of Al's attention, more of his consideration, more of his affection and adoration and love. Scorpius had only realised he was in love with Al months before but he desperately, desperately needed it to be reciprocated. He'd never wanted anything so much in his entire life.

And Al was completely oblivious to that fact.

"I didn't even realise..." Al said, slowly shaking his head. "I don't know why it bothers you that I would spend time with other people but –"

"You don't? You really don't?" Scorpius scoffed, more cruelly than he should have. A voice in the back of his mind that saw Al glance up at him with an expression of hurt realised that, but for the most part he ignored it. Al was hurt? Well, so was Scorpius. "You don't see how it might upset me that my best friend spends more time with literally every other bloody person in the school than me?"

"That's not true –"

"How maybe I might like to actually just hang out with you sometimes?"

"Scorpius –"

"That maybe instead of making sure you put aside exactly three hours a week to spend with Rose to study you should think about doing it with me instead? That maybe I might want to study with you sometimes? What about me, Al? Don't I get a say?"

Scorpius could hear his voice wavering beneath its growl, could hear the emotion rising. He had to cut himself off, biting his lip fiercely to stop his words from continuing to spill out. If he didn't he was almost certain that he'd say something he'd regret. Like the fact that he was head over heels for his best friend and that he was so, so angry with him because he _just didn't realise_.

Al was staring at him. His fringe fell into his eyes and the way he ducked his chin just a little would have hidden his expression except that Scorpius could never miss Al, never overlook even the slightest words written unvoiced upon his face. Al stared, and it was with sadness and rising horror and something else. Fear? It almost looked like fear.

That more than anything shook Scorpius from his anger. Not entirely but enough for him to get a hold of himself. When he did it was to bite his lip even more painfully. Yes, he was angry, but that he'd been so angry as to make Al scared? Of him? After six years of friendship, Al could be _scared_ of him? "Al, I –"

"I didn't know," Al blurted out. His voice was barely a squeak, entirely unexpected. Scorpius had never heard him sound like that before. "Scorpius, I – I didn't know you –"

"I know you didn't," Scorpius managed to choke out. He was still annoyed, but he couldn't draw his eyes from Al's face and that expression – so worried it looked to be almost heartbroken – that dampened his anger like a wet blanket. "I know. That's why I'm telling you –"

"I didn't even realise," Al interrupted Scorpius. It was possibly one of the only times he had ever really, truly interrupted him, to such a degree that Scorpius thought he didn't even hear his own words. It was as unlike Al as was his open worry, his fear. "I'm so, so sorry, Scorpius. I should have thought about you. You're right, I should be spending more time with you. I should be. That's what best friends do, and you are my best friend and –"

"Al –"

" – I should think about you more than everyone else. It wouldn't be fair if I didn't." Al wasn't looking at Scorpius, his eyes downcast once more and a hand raised to the side of his head. His fingers locked into his messy hair so tightly they looked on the verge of ripping it loose. "You're completely right. I do spend time with everyone else, I make sure I do, but I never factored you in specifically, and that's really horrible of me to –"

"Hey, Al, wait a second," Scorpius struggled to interrupt him in turn. His anger was quickly dying beneath the onslaught of Al's feeble words. Really, he looked more like a puppy than ever, hunched and cowering beneath reprimand. Certainly not like the respectable, calm, confident and companionable sixteen- year-old that he was. That he _always_ was. "I didn't mean –"

"I like spending time with you the most," Al continued in that same detached manner. His words were coming faster, almost hysterical, and that itself was unnerving. It was sort of terrifying to witness. "I always do. 'Cause you _are_ my best friend. But we've just sort of always been together, and I've never had to think about it. It just happens. I don't have to organise it, or factor it in, or make time for it because I want to, you know, and I do, and I will, and I –"

"Al, whoa, hold on a sec." Scorpius found himself crossing the room in rapid strides. He unlocked his fingers from his robes – they were aching from how hard he'd been clenching them – and clamped them onto Al's shoulders. He feel a crackle where he touched, almost a spark, and detachedly realised it was Al's magic sizzling forth. "Calm down. What the hell, what's going on? Are you...?"

Al stuttered to a stop as Scorpius planted himself directly before him. He seemed to have to shake himself physically from his spiralling thoughts, from the open concern – the _fear_ – that was tightening his face. He glanced up at Scorpius and there was such heartfelt apology in his expression that Scorpius found the last of his anger abruptly evaporate. "I – I'm really sorry, Scorpius."

Without another word, Al reached forwards, locked his arms around Scorpius' and squeezed him in an almost painfully tight embrace. The magic thrumming from his arms was a physical warmth, radiating from him in a similar yet different way to how it did when he was angry. Scorpius was rendered frozen, stunned for a moment. He and Al weren't all that much for hugging. A casual lean upon one other's shoulder, or slumping onto each another on the couch in the common room, certainly, but nothing quite like an embrace. Even the brief clasps around the shoulder when they said goodbye to one another at the end of the school year wasn't anything like that.

Scorpius was breathless in Al's embrace, but not only because it was unexpected. It was because of everything else too: Al's words, triggered from some terror that he'd conjured for himself, his professions that he liked Scorpius the most, even if that 'most' was only as a best friend, that he'd basically promised to spend more time with him. Even more than that was the hug, the physical assurance that he felt some misguided repentance for his oversight.

Scorpius would reflect later how stupidly, cruelly wrong he'd been. How he'd unconsciously played upon Al's desire for those around him – and perhaps Scorpius most importantly – to love him. He would scold himself for his heartlessness, for driving his friend into such hysterics in a way that Al was never forced, enough that even his magic reared in response. Al was subdued, he was calm and contained, but in his frustration, in his jealously, Scorpius had thrust him out of his usual tranquillity.

Al didn't usually crack, but when he did it was to burst into splinters as he desperately tried to patch up the damage he perceived he'd done.

* * *

Scorpius suspected he knew the reason for Al's actions. For why his best friend – his best friend and the person he'd loved for years – would fuck his father. Dammit, why did it have to be his _father_ of all people? Why Albus Potter, the quiet one of the family, the reserved one, the one who so rarely spoke out for himself and who never asked for anything? Why would act in such a way?

It was because he wanted to be loved. Because he desperately sought the attention, the affection and the approval of those around him. Scorpius sometimes wondered if Al even knew he was doing it. Surely he wouldn't. Scorpius liked to think he understood Al well enough to know that, had he realised as much, he would have made an active effort to stop himself. Al thought about other people's opinions constantly, was always acting in the nicest, most favourable way possible. He probably just did it instinctively by now.

What Scorpius didn't fully understand, however, was what drove him to act in such a way. Did he seek the approval of Scorpius' father because Draco was his boss? Because he was Scorpius' father and he wanted to present a good face to his best friend's family, as strange and sickeningly twisted as that approach might be? It couldn't be for personal gratification, could it? Surely Al wouldn't be so hard pressed to find a bed partner as to resort to Draco for that reason only. Al had never talked to Scorpius about any girlfriends – or boyfriends, which Scorpius assumed he must be at least partial to – and Scorpius hadn't really considered it anything to comment on before the end of sixth year. When he did think about it, it was to be relieved for the fact; surely Al would tell him if he had someone 'special' in his life, someone other than Scorpius. Wouldn't he?

Al had never said anything, and it was only now that Scorpius wondered if he had deliberately kept silent on the matter. That thought hurt more than Scorpius had thought it would. Did Al not want to share such things with Scorpius? Did he think that Scorpius wouldn't want to know, regardless of whom it was he was with? But no, when he thought about it like that, Scorpius didn't think that Al was quite so oblivious, so naïve, as to think that Scorpius would be fine with him fucking his father.

Which pointed to only one conclusion: it must have been Draco who had started it.

If Scorpius had been angry at his father before at the prospect of him fucking Al he was furious now. Draco had set his sights on his best friend? _Why?_ Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be Al? Draco was a good-looking man, even well into his forties as he was. He could practically pick and choose whomever he wanted to sleep with. Why did it have to be Al? Al, who wanted to be loved, who sorely and perhaps unconsciously craved attention and would accept any that literally anyone would offer him.

Scorpius couldn't bring himself to blame Al. Not after his initial resentment anyway, a resentment that resembled that which he'd held for him in sixth year when his friend hadn't realised he loved him. Al was in many ways possessed the mind of a child for his ignorance in that regard. Like a puppy who turning towards every smile and lilting voice with an offer of bountiful adoration in return.

No, if Scorpius blamed anyone it was his father. In the months since he'd overheard them for the first time, he'd come to somewhat hate Draco. His father, who he had always looked up to, who had for his entire childhood been his idol, had stolen the person that Scorpius cared the most for in the world. He'd stolen it and was destroying it.

Scorpius saw it happening. It was apparent only as slight changes at first, barely noticeable. Scorpius likely wouldn't have noticed had it not been for the fact that he knew Al so well. A touch of well-concealed weariness, a distractedness that could be attributed to his usual vagueness except that it was deeper. Al never spoke all that much when in the company of more than just the two of them, but he was even quieter now than usual.

Then there were the slight but very real flinches that started to arise whenever anyone mentioned Draco or Al's work. At one time, when Scorpius had been visiting Al's house for dinner and the conversation had turned to his work, Scorpius had witnessed him pass through several shades of whiteness before he'd managed to subtly excuse him from the room.

Some part of what Al had with Scorpius' father was tearing him apart, though whether it was his job or the relationship Scorpius wasn't sure. The only thing he knew was that he had to put a stop to it. That he had to at least try. He loved Al. He couldn't watch him be ripped to pieces.

It took an exorbitant amount of mental coaching and plucking of courage for Scorpius to talk himself into confronting Al. He was a confident person, he knew. He was eloquent, and charismatic, both features beneficial for the Head Boy position he'd held, and he knew he was an respectable person for more than just his fame as a sports person, fame which had escalated dramatically in the past year with the Westend Wraith's unexpected win in the National Quidditch League. Why was he so nervous?

It probably had something to do with the fact that, to Scorpius, the whole world seemed to be riding upon the conversation he sought to initiate.

Diagon Alley was relatively subdued for a Wednesday afternoon. It was after the lunch rush hour yet before the shops began to close and patrons to cast Locking Charms upon their doors. Scorpius, being the sportsman that he was, often found himself with an odd schedule largely out of sync with the rest of the world. Wednesday just happened to be one of those days that he had free while the rest of the world was busy.

The apothecary corner of the Alley that bordered on Knockturn was perhaps more silent than the rest even, the absence of milling shoppers, of parents tugging their toddlers and calling after pre-schoolers mostly absented. People didn't usually come to that corner unless they sought a particular potion. Scorpius had found in his childhood, in the visits he'd made to his father's shop, that in many ways it was nice to have a reprieve from the buzz of activity of the rest of Diagon Alley. It was like a little sanctuary.

The Malfoy Store, named simply and plainly as such, was located between a cluttered herbalist and a cauldron emporium of juxtaposing sleekness. Draco couldn't have chosen a better spot had he tried. The Store itself was minimalistic and refined, with glass windows in place of walls at the front exhibiting an array of potions in variably shaped vials and alternate colours locked in Stasis Charms. At one corner Scorpius saw a gently wafting cauldron puffing plumes of dissipating smoke into the air – it was only a Fragrance Potion but it looked impressive for the golden cauldron in which it sat.

Scorpius pushed through the door into the store to the feather-light tinkle of a bell. As he stepped inside it was to draw the attention of a young man seated behind the wide, sparse receptionist's desk, immaculately groomed in pressed robes with a pair of spectacles balanced precisely upon his nose. Scorpius nearly curled his lip at that; it had been a while since he'd visited his father's brewery and in that time evidently Margery had been replaced with a younger and better model. He couldn't help but scowl internally at the trend that his father seemed to be following, at least in some of his workers. Did he even realise he'd chosen in quick succession two young, attractive men in place of older, more experienced workers? Scorpius almost hoped he didn't but a snide voice at the back of his head scolded him for such obliviousness.

The receptionist blinked blankly at Scorpius for a moment as he crossed the room in quick strides. Then he was standing, a small, reserved, entirely professional smile settling upon his lips. It didn't touch the rest of his face. "Master Malfoy, good afternoon. How may I help you?"

Scorpius had never met the young man before, a man who couldn't be any older than he, but he was used to people knowing who he was regardless. Whether it was for his name or his position on the Wraiths, he'd almost expected people to know him for his entire life. Nodding his head in acknowledgement of the receptionist's words, Scorpius gestured towards the only other door in the room that he knew led to the brewery. "I'd like to see Albus Potter, if I could."

The receptionist blinked blankly again for a moment, a long pause in which Scorpius cruelly had to question his intelligence, before he nodded. "Of course, sir. I'll just see if he's available." In an instant he was striding towards the door, wand drawing to mutter the personalised Unlocking Charm that was fairly typical of most workplaces, and disappearing with the click of the door.

Scorpius took a step back from the desk and turned his gaze lazily around the room. Just as suggested from the outside, the interior was minimalistic, with only a streaking of sparsely cluttered shelves at the window sill and equally sparse shelving upon the two remaining walls at head height. Other than that there was nothing but a pair of basic yet comfortable seats placed either side of a table that held the latest edition of _Brewer's Melange_. Overall, alongside the pale walls and charmed, ambient light – because no one in their right mind would use any other lighting in a brewery – and faux marble tiles in white carrara, it presented a pristine setting. Almost like a medical center, like the diagnostic rooms in St. Mungo's that Scorpius had visited all of once when he was younger.

He'd taken himself to one of the two seats, reclining in deliberate casualness that the rapid fluttering in his chest assured him he didn't feel, by the time the receptionist returned. It was with an expression of apology that he wore, which immediately drew Scorpius straight up in his seat with a frown.

"I apologise, sir. Mr Malfoy wishes to inform you that Master Potter is currently unavailable until five o'clock this evening."

Scorpius felt his frown deepen. "Unavailable?"

"Yes, sir. He's working."

Ignoring the slow and slightly condescending tone of the receptionist's voice, Scorpius pursed his lips. "Really? He couldn't spare Albus for a minute to come out and talk to me?"

The receptionist had adopted an expression of carefully composed regret. "I'm sorry, sir."

"He couldn't ask one of his other half a dozen brewers and apprentices to take over for a second?"

"No, sir."

Scorpius scowled. If he didn't know better – which he did, even if that snide voice in the back of his mind spoke otherwise – he would almost think that Draco was keeping him from his friend. Which he wasn't. Surely he wasn't. He'd certainly never had before and he _wouldn't_.

Fighting the urge to spit and curse, Scorpius settled himself deliberately back into his seat. He folded his arms, crossing his legs, and nodded sharply. "Alright, then. I'll just wait."

There was a pause for silence in which the receptionist, still standing just inside the door, seemed at a loss of what to say. Then he shuffled towards his own seat with far less fluid grace than he'd used before. "Sir, closing time isn't for at least another hour," he said, easing himself stiffly into sitting.

Scorpius shrugged. "It's a good thing I've got nothing better to do, then." And with deliberate casualness once more he plucked the copy of the _Brewer's Melange_ from the table and flicked it open. He didn't have all that much interest in Potions – that had been more Al's subject in school – but he had to have something to do for the next however long he was expected to wait.

It turned out to be over an hour that he was sitting in the stagnant silence at the front from of Malfoy Store. At least it was silent after the receptionist, still anonymous for all Scorpius cared to alleviate such a fact, ceased his attempts to offer him a glass of water, something to eat, another book perhaps. Scorpius merely shook his head to each and went back to perusing the _Melange_ , of which he was rapidly coming to realise was as dry as the glossy paper it was written upon. The receptionist in turn finally admitted defeat and turned back to typing away on the computer propped before him. It was one of the newer models, Scorpius noted from a brief, sidelong glance, the ones in production for the last three years that managed almost consistently to run in the presence of magic. Scorpius had seen Al's sister Lily using one recently. She practically lived on the thing.

The sun was glaring an orange-pink glow through the window in a thoroughly blinding manner by the time the door into the brewery behind the shop finally opened. It did so to the sound of murmured voices, to the sight of Al and Draco as they stepped into the room engrossed in conversation. Both were wearing matching brewer's robes in bottle green, though while Scorpius' father looked as though he'd just stepped out of his bathroom to make himself immaculately ready for the day without a speck on him, Al had shucked his own sleeves up to his elbows to reveal smudges on his fingers that matched those on the cuffs of his sleeves. Scorpius had to wonder at that; had Draco made Al do all the brewing that he was the only one who looked less than perfectly presentable? Probably.

"... come in early tomorrow morning just to check it," Al was saying, face turned up to look at Draco in faint question. "Stasis Charms often don't work as well when the firestones have already been added."

Draco nodded in reply, a small, pleased smile upon his lips that drew a frown from Scorpius once more. "Indeed. It would be appreciated Albus."

Al replied with a smile that only deepened Scorpius' frown. It was a little strained perhaps, a little guarded, but also a touch relieved, as though Al had awaited Draco's approval and could relax when he'd received it. A moment later, however, he was turning towards Scorpius with an expression of apology. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Scorpius. Really. We were just right in the middle of something that couldn't be put down."

Scorpius shrugged a little stiffly as he placed the _Melange_ back on the table and rose to his feet. "That's alright. I wasn't doing anything anyway. And I wouldn't want to... disrupt you." He flickered a glance over Al's shoulder towards Draco, and his expression mustn't have been as smoothly blank as he'd intended for Draco frowned slightly, pausing at he turned towards the receptionist.

Al crossed the room to his side, nodding in a way that somehow seemed apologetic. "Did you need me for something?"

Scorpius had to fight to draw his attention from his father, whose frown was rapidly deepening the longer they locked eyes. He attempted a smile that rapidly faded when his attention focused more completely upon Al. Did he look more tired than usual? He'd seemed to be getting wearier and wearier each time Scorpius saw him but this was beyond the usual. He seemed a strained, too. Tense, as though stiffened in awkwardness.

Shaking his head, Scorpius half turned towards the door in what he hoped was a suggestion to leave. He didn't particularly want to remain in his father's presence for any longer than he absolutely had to. "No reason. I just feel like we haven't seen each other all that much lately."

"I saw you on Sunday, Scorpius."

"Exactly."

"That doesn't make any sense," Al said, his smile slightly easier this time. Scorpius congratulated himself for that. He glanced back towards Draco as they made their way from the store. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr Malfoy," he said over his shoulder, and as always Scorpius had to fight the urge to flinch at the words. He could never hear Al speak them again without thinking about – no, he didn't want to think about that at all.

Draco only inclined his head in a nod. His attention was drawn from Scorpius momentarily towards Al, and it could have been Scorpius' imagination but he could have sworn he saw something... something there. Something heated, objectifying, something he didn't like in the slightest. _No one_ should look at Al like that. Maybe it was just a phantom projection on Scorpius' part, but the notion only served to anger him further.

How was it possible to so confusingly hate one's own father?

They made their way into the Alley to the tinkling of a bell to signal their departure. It was a silent walk, as it often was between the two of them. Scorpius was a confident speaker, it was true, but one of the best things about his relationship with Al was that it was easy. That he didn't need to push it. That they could remain in companionable silence without discomfort and it was as easy as if they had been speaking jovially.

At least that's how it usually was. It might have been Scorpius just projecting again but Al really did seem wearier than usual. He didn't like that thought. He didn't like it at all.

Diagon Alley was a little more flooded with witches and wizards at early evening, patrons closing their shops and turning to wander towards the Leaky Cauldron or the distant Apparation site with sighs of relief for the day's close. Scorpius directed Al towards that Apparation site, at which point they paused in step at a distance to wait for the milling queue of departers to leave before doing so themselves.

Al turned towards Scorpius, his usual small smile touching his lips. Yes, he was definitely more tired than usual, and it was worrying. Was it work or something else? Was it Scorpius' father and what he was doing to Al? For some reason Scorpius couldn't think of it in any other way – he didn't want to consider that Al wanted what he had with Draco as much as was wanted of him. The thought was... it was repulsive in a gut-clenching sort of way.

Some of Scorpius' concern must have filtered into his expression for Al raised an eyebrow at him, smile dying. "What's wrong?"

"Hm?"

"You look worried. Is something wrong? Did you need my help with something?"

Typical Al. Scorpius had come to expect as much from his friend, but in recent years it had become almost annoying that whenever Al spoke to someone, even to Scorpius, it was always to offer something. His help, an ear to listen to woes, his silent presence for support. Even his absence in the few occasions that no one in their right mind would request of him. It was likely because of that frustration that when Scorpius shook his head it was a little more curtly than he'd intended. "No, I don't need help with anything."

"Then...?" Al trailed off, the slight crinkling in his brow just visible behind his bangs. He peered at Scorpius expectantly.

And Scorpius... for whatever reason, in that moment Scorpius felt the abrupt need to spill everything forth. To admit to it all, that he knew about Al and Draco, that it physically pained him to know and that he wanted Al to _stop, just stop it!_ That he was in love with Al and that he wanted Al, wanted him more than anything else in the world, and couldn't Al see that? How had he missed it?

"Seriously, Scorpius, you're kind of worrying me," Al said quietly, his voice subdued and grown a little wary. Scorpius had to wonder what kind of expression he was wearing himself to induce such guardedness from his friend.

Casting a glance around them – because in that moment, even in the middle of Diagon Alley, Scorpius knew he would blurt it all out and hoped that no one was close enough to listen – he ensured that there were none close enough to eavesdrop. That none of the waiting Apparaters could overhear him. They were all at a distance, all distracted with their own thoughts and conversations, and the shops surrounding them were similarly distant enough. Windows were dimming of their lights, doors closing, and even if they were still alight Scorpius doubted any shoppers would pause in step to listen to his words.

With a swallow, Scorpius turned back to Al. Another swallow and then it tumbled forth uncontrollably. "I know, Al."

Al stared at him. He stared and blinked in blankness that faded into a frown of confusion. "What?"

"I know about – about all of it, Al." Scorpius had to swallow again, his throat constricting and almost painfully dry. "I've known for a while now."

The confusion persisted on Al's face for a long moment until it gradually faded. His eyes widened and horror, a touch of fear that Scorpius hated to see on him more than almost anything else, took its place. In his eyes, in the face of his rising terror, Scorpius knew that Al in turn knew exactly what he was referring to but when he spoke once more, his voice quiet and almost squeaking, it was in persisting ignorance. "What are you talking about?"

Scorpius couldn't help himself. He didn't want to blurt it all out – it hurt to even think the words, let alone say them – but his desires didn't appear to have a part in the proceedings. With a tearing pain in his chest, a continued struggle to wet his throat, the words tumbled forth. "I heard you. I mean, it was months ago," he knew exactly how long it had been, eleven months and thirteen days, but he didn't say as much, "but I didn't say anything. About – about you and my father. About – " He cut himself off, his throat seizing once more. It was only as he struggled to raise his gaze to meet Al's that he realised it had dropped to his toes.

Al looked utterly terrified in that moment. All of his careful calm, his composure, the reservation of his stance, was shed like a second skin. His face was white, eyes so wide they seemed to consume half of his face and a hand had raised to grasp the side of his head, fingers to lock in his hair as though clutching a lifeline. Then, just as it did with his anger yet in that entirely different way, Scorpius felt Al's magic rear and spread forth in a sweeping blanket.

It was horrible to see, painful to feel. Scorpius immediately wished he hadn't spoken, that he'd held his tongue. He'd wanted to admit everything because he didn't like to keep secrets from Al. More than that he hated it. He hadn't anything unspoken between them. But maybe... maybe in this instance it would have been better not to speak at all. Maybe Scorpius had been wrong. Nothing right could make Al look like that.

Before he could say anything, however, Al was speaking. He spoke in a fast- paced, rapid-fire voice so hysterical it was almost unintelligible. "I'm s-sorry, Scorpius. I'm so, so sorry, I – I'm an idiot, I should have done – shouldn't be doing – I shouldn't – God, I'm so sorry, I'm disgusting and horrible and I can't believe I've done this to you." His eyes squeezed shut momentarily. "I should never – I didn't mean to, it just sort of happened and I –"

"Al," Scorpius attempted, but he was overridden.

"It just s-sort of spiralled out of control. I didn't want to hurt you, I swear, I didn't even – I didn't even want you to find out, I –"

"Al, please, just –"

"Mr Mal-Malfoy just asked me, he suggested that we could – that maybe we could – but I didn't want to hurt you, God, Scorpius, never that. I didn't want you to find out, it was meant to have stopped by now and I – I..." His voice strangled off into something of a choked sob. His eyes, still blown wide, had fallen downward, his other hand rising to clutch at the other side of his head as though he could tear the hair out on both sides now. His breath were coming heavily, almost gasping.

"I am so, so sorry, Scorpius. Please hate me."

Those words cut Scorpius to the core. This wasn't Al. This wasn't the Al that Scorpius knew, that he had been friends with for years. He hadn't the faintest trace of calmness, a hint of quiet reserve or containment. It was as though everything was spilling out, overflowing and overwhelming him. Scorpius felt his own horror rise at the sight of it, rendering him speechless. He was detachedly aware that, even at a distance, their conversation had drawn the attention of some particularly well-of-hearing individuals. In that moment he didn't even cared.

"Al, I... you..."

Scorpius reached for him but like an instinctive flinch Al stepped away. He wasn't looking at Scorpius, his downcast gaze cringing, and as he flinched it was for Scorpius to feel a sharp, cool burst of magic sweep across him. He was left with arm outstretched, mouth hanging open slightly and at a loss.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Yes, Scorpius had expected Al's remorse. Yes, he might have even hoped for it a little bit, because Scorpius had been miserable, hurt, tortured whenever he even contemplated the idea of his father and Al. But he had hoped that would pass quickly enough, that Scorpius could get onto convincing Al to end it with Draco, that he could admit his own feelings that had only grown fiercer and more aching in his jealousy. For certain, Al's magic shouldn't be rearing up _against_ him. It seemed just so wrong.

No words seemed capable of coming forth. Scorpius wanted to speak, wanted to confess everything just as he wanted to reach for Al and reassure him through touch, through an embrace, that yes, he was angry, but he forgave him. Would forgive him so long as Al just stopped with all of it. It wasn't until he saw Al flinch away from him that Scorpius realised he'd been hoping his friend would sag in defeat and reach for him in turn, just as he had in sixth year, the first time Scorpius had truly seen him burst forth from his subdued façade.

Al didn't reach for him. He seemed incapable of easing of even a hint of the tension that tightened his shoulders, the grasp he held on his messy hair and the downcast gaze that didn't rise no matter how Scorpius silently pleaded it to. For his part, Scorpius couldn't move either. He couldn't reach to Al further, not with the possibility of Al shrinking further from him, but neither could he bring himself to drop his raised hand away. It was as though the thrumming, pulsing magic that radiated from Al had frozen him in place rather than his own terror.

They were at an impasse, neither capable of movement. Scorpius didn't even know for how long they stood there, frozen like wax figures.

Finally, Al spoke. It was in such a hushed voice that Scorpius almost didn't hear it through the pounding in his ears, the whirring of words spinning in his mind and demanding that he _do something_ and that he _speak, dammit, tell him!_ He couldn't follow either order, no matter how much he wanted to, and when Al spoke it was to be immediately captured by his words.

"I think..." Al's croaked, voice flooded with pain and far too much remorse. Scorpius instantly hated himself for hoping for even a little bit of such. "I think I'm... going to go... now."

He didn't glance up at Scorpius when he spoke. He seemed incapable of doing so, as though his head was permanently fixed in a bowed pose. Scorpius wanted to refute his words. He wanted to grasp Al by the shoulders, to hold him still as he blurted out every one of the thoughts that were battering away on the inside of his skull. The thought of Al leaving, and after what had just been spoken – it hurt. It hurt almost too much to consider.

But Scorpius couldn't move. All he could do was watch, hand still raised and outstretched, as Al turned in a snap of his bottle-green robes and hastened towards the Apparation point. Sometime over the course of the past few minutes the queue had dwindled, and it was barely a moment before he was spinning on the spot and disappearing with a faint crack. He didn't even spare a final glance over his shoulder.

Scorpius was left behind.

He didn't see Al for three weeks after that. He wanted to, sorely wanted to, but he was terrified. It was a terror that Scorpius had never experienced before, and it only seemed to manifest the longer it sat with him. Scorpius rebuked himself for his actions, for his words and his lack of them, more times than he could count. He was even scolded by faceless figures in his dreams, and he found that he could only agree with their reprimands. He felt himself become detached, lost in thought, and was even scolded several times during Quidditch practice for his inattentiveness.

Scorpius didn't care. He didn't really care about anything anymore except for the fact that Al was scared of him, or angry at him, or upset or remorseful or hurting. Perhaps even hurting as much as Scorpius was, though Scorpius didn't know how that could even be possible. At the end of three weeks, he couldn't help himself. Scorpius had to see him. He had to try more than attempt to converse by letter, or Floo call to no avail. He found himself on the familiar main road of Godric's Hollow of an evening when he was sure Al would have been back from work.

The Potter house was one of the largest on the street. Large yet homely, entirely different to Malfoy manor. It looked almost like a little farmhouse, one of the ones that was less of a 'farmhouse' and more of a miniature mansion that could surely hold a large family if not a small community. Scorpius had always liked the Potter house, though he would admit to himself that it was mostly because Al lived within it.

He rapped on the door in a series of knocks that he could hear echoing through the house beyond. Silence met his request, silence in which Scorpius found himself shifting in step, agitation niggling at him and giving him the stirrings of twitching energy.

The footsteps that gradually approached moments later nearly seized his heart in sudden anxiety. Scorpius struggled to quash down the urge to fix his hair, to tug at his shirt and shrug any creases from his jacket. He took a deep, calming-yet-not-really breath a moment before the door swung inwards.

James Potter stood in the doorway.

Of all people in the world that Scorpius would have been happy to see in that moment, James didn't even make the list. Their relationship hadn't necessarily become more antagonistic over the past few years but it certainly hadn't become better. Scorpius had to bite back the urge to sneer, an urge that James had no compunctions about assuming for the curling of his own lip.

With the casual slouch of the entitled, James leaned against the doorway, arms folding across his chest. Really, he looked and acted so vastly different to Al that at times it was impossible to conceive that they were siblings. Al had certainly never been so arrogant and entitled in his life, not even in his own house, and he surely wouldn't go so far as to strut around in his Quidditch gear as though peacocking for the world. Even Scorpius knew it was common courtesy to take off one's uniform before leaving the locker rooms. It wasn't even as though James looked all that presentable in the green and gold robes. It certainly would have looked better on Al.

"What do you want?" James said flatly. It was more of a demand than a question, and Scorpius immediately felt his hackles rise. With a struggle he smoothed them down once more before speaking.

"Is Al here?"

James' eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Obviously because I want to talk to him."

"Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you." James' sneer had become somehow defensive, almost guarded. That worried Scorpius more than anything.

He struggled to swallow the sudden dryness in his mouth. "Is he alright?"

James' sneer turned into a frown. A guarded frown that definitely held some concern. He stared at Scorpius for a moment before straightening from his slouch. "Look, I don't know what's happened – Al won't tell anyone – but it's none of your business."

"Actually, it kind of is," Scorpius said, gut clenching painfully. Was Al alright? Really, did James have to be such a prat _right now_? Couldn't he, just for once, pull his head out of his arse and be vaguely considerate?

James' guardedness became angry as he straightened from his slouch. Not objectionable as usual but actually angry as Scorpius had rarely seen of him before. "What happened? What did you do?"

"It's none of your business," Scorpius growled, attempting to stifle his rapidly growing concern. "But if you'd kindly let me through, I really need to speak to Al –"

"Tell me what happened, Malfoy," James demanded. He seemed to be trying to stand taller, to make himself more imposing. Scorpius would have scoffed at him at any other time.

Instead, he found himself frowning, clicking his tongue and fidgeting in step. "I told you, it's none of your business. Seriously, James, can you just fuck off for once? Just for once?"

For one blessed moment of muteness, Scorpius thought that James might actually step aside. He stared at Scorpius flatly, considering, before he seemed to struggle to force the sneer onto his face. "No. You can just fuck the hell away from my house, Malfoy."

"Dammit, Potter, could you just –"

"And for your information, Al isn't here. He moved out like three days ago into his own place." James' sneer became contemptuous. "Some friend you are, that you didn't even know."

Then, without another word, James turned on his heel and stepped back into the hallway of his house beyond, slamming the door behind him. The sound of his retreating footsteps was reminiscent of a stomping hippogriff.

Scorpius was left on the doorstep in a state of stupefaction. He stared at the carved wooden door with dread rapidly welling within him. Al hadn't even told him he he'd moved out of home. He'd said he was going to for months now but as far as Scorpius knew hadn't made any particular efforts to promote that movement. But now he'd done it. And he was gone.

Scorpius knew he hadn't really disappeared. That he wasn't truly untouchable. Yet as he turned slowly, dazedly from the Potter house, it felt very much like it. Al was slipping through his fingers like water trickling to the floor that no matter how he clenched his fist and tightened his grasp Scorpius couldn't prevent from falling.

It hurt. It physically hurt. As Scorpius nearly tripped down the path from the front door, nearly walking into the gate of the little hedge fence, he found himself clutching at his chest. Heartbreak wasn't really supposed to break your heart, was it? Scorpius had always thought it just a metaphor, a dramatization, but his chest did feel as though it were being torn apart. His eyes were blurring, though from the pain or something else he wasn't sure.

Al was a subdued person. He was withdrawn. Sometimes, he spilled over the lip of that cup of reservation, the unrestrainable and so rarely seen depths of what he felt beneath the surface gushing forth. Scorpius had only seen it once, really, but even that once, regardless of how horrible it had been, was in some ways a blessing.

But other times... other times, when Al gushed everything forth, it was to withdraw once more. To withdraw and disappear from where Scorpius could reach him.


	4. Plain and Simple

Albus was a plain person.

Or at least plainness was what he attempted to embody. He never wore anything particularly distinct, seeming to prefer a darker and monochromatic colour scheme with everything that he wore on a casual basis. Dark jeans and an oversized jumper were Al's aesthetics, always a little oversized as though he expected to grow into them. Scorpius had come to simply accept that. His hair was always just a little too long, his uncut fringe flopping into his eyes, and he seemed to use that to sort of hide himself.

It was all in keeping with the image that his character seemed to embody. That Al was subdued, calm and constant, that he was unobtrusive and preferred to keep out of the limelight. Even when Scorpius came to understand that an innate need to be noticed was just as much a part of who Al was, that knowledge didn't quite overwhelm the reality: Al was plain, he was unobtrusive and if not actively kept an eye out he could very well slip beneath notice.

Scorpius had accepted that about his friend quite without his knowledge. It just always was, like how his hair was dark, or his eyes were green, or that he was left-handed and held his quill far too close to the nib. There was no emotion attached to the fact for it simply was. As such, it quite blew him away when Scorpius realised for the first time that, under such a guise, Al was sort of beautiful.

It didn't hit him all at once. The first trigger to Scorpius' understanding was in the beginning of fourth year when, come the new term, he'd met Al on the Hogwarts Express. It wasn't anything particularly profound but...

"You got your hair cut."

As he settled Al's compartment on the train, empty as of yet of Rose's presence, Scorpius found himself pointing out the feature as soon as he saw his friend. Perhaps it wouldn't have been all that noticeable to anyone else, but for Scorpius who spent so much time with him he could hardly miss it. His fringe was a bit shorter, the curls around his ears more even and trimmed. It actually allowed Scorpius to see his face a little better. He hadn't realised how much of it Al had kept hidden until it was swept aside just a little bit.

Al huffed in reply, blowing at his fringe slightly before reaching up to tug at it as though to stretch it a little longer. It didn't do any good and Scorpius couldn't help but smirk at the faint touch of bashful colour that brushed his cheeks. "Unfortunately. Mum said I should try it, even if only just the once."

"You don't like it?"

"You can tell? It's never happening again."

Scorpius' smirk became a grin and he couldn't help but continue to intermittently tease Al for the rest of the trip to Hogwarts. Yet even as he did he couldn't help but notice – Al was pretty good looking behind his curtain of hair. Scorpius hadn't even realised his eyes were such a bright shade. Such a feature just wasn't all that noticeable because he simple _didn't_ notice such trivial features as eye colour and yet... after that, Scorpius couldn't help but pay extra attention to it.

It wasn't until sixth year that Scorpius really started to notice, however. Until after he'd broken up with Jacinta and he'd had his epiphany. Even then, he probably wouldn't have noticed as much had he not stumbled into the showers at some ungodly hour of the morning and nearly tripped over Al.

Al was an early riser. It was a strange phenomenon that Scorpius didn't realise for a long time. Six o'clock was when he woke. It was the same, every single day regardless of whether it was a weekday or the weekend. Why even Al apparently didn't know, but that was the reality of it. Scorpius had thought himself an early riser until then. It was only when he actually asked Al, when Al told him that yes, he was up at six, that he had a shower before most people were awake and no, that didn't make him crazy for not wanting to sleep in to the last possible second, that Scorpius realised he really hadn't seen Al in the showers before. It had never really struck him until them; like many things with Al, it just sort of slipped beneath Scorpius' radar until some trigger dragged it into his notice. Before sixth year, Scorpius hadn't truly had any interest in seeing Al shower. Not really, anyway. That wasn't how best friends saw each other and besides, what was there to see?

A lot, apparently. A lot that Scorpius once more hadn't realised he was missing.

The effects of slightly oversized jumpers, of baggy trousers and shirts that looked more suited to James' frame than Al's, was only made truly apparent in their absence. After Scorpius crashed into him, when he'd steadied himself and Al straightened, it was to find whatever words of apology had risen onto his tongue die rather abruptly.

Al was wearing only a towel around his waist that revealed almost as much as it concealed given it barely reached mid thigh. Scorpius found himself staring, his mouth becoming dry as his eyes drew hungrily, almost compulsively over every inch of exposed skin that was sinful for the faintly damp glisten. Of pale skin and the faint definition of muscles in his arms and legs, across his chest and torso. At his arms and legs themselves that seemed somehow longer, more fluid, even graceful in stillness. To the curve of his neck from his collarbones, the lines of his jaw. Al wasn't a sportsman, not like his brother, not like Scorpius, but Scorpius found he had absolutely nothing to complain about for that fact.

Typical of Al, he didn't appear to notice in the slightest that Scorpius was staring. That might have been a good thing, although Scorpius would consider in hindsight that much confusion would have been avoided if his friend had been just a little more aware of himself. Holding up his hands before him as though to steady Scorpius, Al gave a slight, apologetic wince. "Oh, sorry, Scorpius. My bad, I wasn't looking where I was going."

Scorpius opened his mouth to speak but barely a croak tripped from his tongue. Al didn't seemed to notice, scratching at his head a little awkwardly. "Sorry. Um... what are you doing up so early? I mean – no, sorry, I'm in your way, I'll just..." He made a vague gesture towards the door to the bathrooms and, skirting around Scorpius with another mumble that was most likely further apology, hastened from the room. Scorpius couldn't help but watch him go, eyes drawn along the smooth curve of Al's back as it tapered to his waist, to the back of his narrow thighs that for the first time Scorpius truly saw in an entirely different manner to usual. It took a physical effort for him to shake himself from his stupor, to close the door behind Al and hasten to the shower. A cold shower, to take care of the unexpected issue that had arisen at the confrontation while Scorpius considered how damned frustrating the existence of a certain towel was.

Yet even then, even with that confrontation, Scorpius didn't truly realise what he had been overlooking until the beginning of seventh year. The situation arose halfway into first term, when the Hogwarts N.E.W.T. students were fully embedded in their studies and madly focused upon textbooks and scribbling down every word spouted from their professor's mouths. Breakfast at the senior end of the table was already more filled with open books and scattered parchments than it was with plates of toast and bowls of cereal. Scorpius had never paid his upperclassmen much mind before but when he considered it he supposed that his year were far from the first to engage in such activities at the dining table.

It wasn't until the bell sounded for the beginning of class that Scorpius looked up from his Potions essay and realised Al wasn't in the Hall. How he'd missed it he didn't know because Scorpius _always_ knew where Al was; he had a sixth sense for it. And yet present Al was not. Scorpius put his oversight down to the essay that was simply _not_ writing itself.

Rising from his seat he leant towards Casper, the other seventh year boy the closest to him. "Hey, Cas, have you seen Al this morning?"

Casper paused in the act of stuffing his own books into his bag to glance towards Scorpius. Readjusting his glasses, he shrugged. "I saw him for a second but he barely stepped into the Great Hall before an owl dropped something off to him and he left again."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow. "When was that? How didn't I notice?"

"You were sort of busy at the time," Casper said with a sympathetic smile and a gesture towards Scorpius' essay still half-curled on the table. Then he shucked his bag onto his shoulder and fell into step beside Francesca as they made their way from the Great Hall with the rest of the students.

Still frowning, Scorpius made to follow suit but paused in step just outside the door. He hadn't seen Al so... where was he? Surely he wouldn't have gone to class without Scorpius because Al always walked to class alongside him. Or, more specifically, Scorpius made sure that _he_ always walked alongside _Al_. It wasn't one of the few free periods that Al had when Scorpius didn't either, which meant... the dormitory?

Scorpius probably should have just gone to class. In reality, anyone else in the world would have just assumed that their friend had gone ahead without them. But whether it was his sixth sense or something else, Scorpius couldn't shake the feeling that Al would have waited for him. Had something happened?

For perhaps the first time skipping class, Scorpius started at a near jog towards the dungeons. The common room was empty when he stepped through the door, the yellow-green fire the only motion in the otherwise still, dark room of blacks, greens and smoothed stone. Scorpius hastened towards the seventh year boys dormitory, pausing outside the closed door only long enough to give a gentle knock. "Al? Are you in here?"

He didn't wait for an answer before stepping inside, and when he saw Al he was glad he hadn't. Sitting on the end of his perfectly made bed – by Al, because he had a weird thing about doing that which seemed to disregard the fact that the school's house elves would have been more than happy to do it for him – Al was staring sightlessly and unblinkingly at his toes. A letter was held loosely in his hands where they rested in his lap but he wasn't looking at it. Scorpius wondered if he even knew he still held it.

But more importantly than that, he was crying. Not sobbing, though; the tears that trickled down his cheeks were silent and dribbling like a tap not quite turned off, dripping onto the overlong cuffs of his robes or pattering onto the bleached whiteness of the letter. He likely didn't even realise he was crying at all.

Scorpius had never seen Al cry. Other than the brief bursts of angry emotion, he never seemed to get worked up about anything in particular. Yet the crumpled, lost expression he wore, the endless cascade of tears down his cheeks, was very real sadness. Of grief, deep and sore. Scorpius could almost feel it radiating from him in tangible waves. Maybe it was. Maybe his magic was speaking for him once more. But if it was, it gave utterance in an entirely different way to that which Scorpius had ever felt before. It was heavy, dragging, exhausting. Was that what Al was feeling?

Crossing the room in quick steps, Scorpius immediately fell onto the bed beside Al. Without thought, he wrapped an arm around his shoulder, dropping his head down in an attempt to peer more fully at Al's face. "Al? Hey, Al, are you alright? What happened?"

Al didn't seem to even realise Scorpius was there for a moment. He sniffed then slowly, almost hesitantly, he turned towards Scorpius. His eyes shone, red- rimmed, glassy and bright green with watery tears that still fell through the curtain of his fringe. "Scorpius. Hey."

Scorpius puffed a humourless laugh. Even in what was very clearly misery, Al still strove for calm, for collectedness. It was so typically him. "What's wrong? Did something...?"

As Scorpius drew his gaze towards the tear-stained letter in Al's hand he caught from his periphery Al doing the same. He didn't get a chance to catch more than the vaguely familiar handwriting of Al's father, the slanting scrawl so similar to Al's, before Al folded it. He gave another sniff before replying. "Um. Not really."

Scorpius glanced back towards his face. That wasn't like Al. He wasn't the sort of person that seemed able to express his troubles to... well, anyone. He never asked for anything, was the person that offered support or assistance rather than requesting it. As Scorpius had always thought of him, he was just too generous like that. It was almost frustrating sometimes. _Was_ frustrating.

His surprise and immediate desire to offer whatever assistance he possible could had Scorpius blurting out his words. "What is it? Can I help?"

Al sniffed once more. His eyes were still focused on the folded letter, the letter that was already becoming speckled on the unstained side by another splattering of Al's tears that continued to fall. "Not really. Um... my, um... my pops..." There was a pause in which Al raised a hand to sweep his fingers across his cheeks. "My pops died. He's... he'd been sick for a while, and um... I guess..." Al trailed off and though his fingers continued to wipe at his face they did little to stem the increasing tide of upwelling tears.

Scorpius felt pain seize his chest. Poor Al. His family was close, far closer than Scorpius' was, and it wasn't just his immediate family, either. Al was close to his cousins – to Rose in particular but to the rest of them too – to his uncles and aunts and to his grandparents. Scorpius knew he had just the one grandfather on his mother's side, what with his father's long dead and buried in history books. He'd heard vague stories about Mr Weasley Senior, enough to know he was well loved, a bit of a quirky character and loved for that in particular.

"I'm so sorry, Al," Scorpius found himself saying, his arms squeezing more tightly around Al's shoulders. "What can I do?"

Al shrugged a shoulder, still wiping at his face in a failing attempt to clear his cheeks of tears. "Nothing, really. It's fine –"

"It's not fine. You're upset and you're allowed to be." Scorpius didn't know where his words came from. He hardly considered himself capable of comforting someone who'd just lost a family member. He'd never had to before and didn't even have the experience of losing one of his own to draw upon. But for Al, he would try anything. He would say anything, do anything, if it would help him even just the slightest. "You're allowed to cry and be upset for as long as you want. And if you want ot say something then I'll listen, o rif you don't then we'll just – we'll just sit here." He paused briefly, then again, "What can I do?"

Al sniffed once more, wiping his nose with a fist before raising his glassy, reddened eyes back towards Scorpius. "Just..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think... could you maybe c-come to his funeral with me on the weekend?"

Scorpius didn't need to consider his answer. He never would, especially if it was Al who was asking him. Offering a feeble smile and squeezing his friend's shoulder once more, he nodded. "Of course I can."

It was the first time Scorpius could recall Al every really asking for anything.

Scorpius did attend Arthur Weasley's funeral with Al. It was sombre, and the amount of redheaded funeral-goers should have been some sort of world record, but Scorpius hardly noticed. He sat alongside Al the entire time, silent and still in their black mourning robes as first Al's Uncle Bill, then his Uncle Charlie, then each of the rest of his uncles and his mother all rose to the podium to speak their words of farewell. Al's Nanna tried to do the same but had to be escorted by her eldest son back to her seat before she'd even begun. The sobbing and stuttering that wracked the greying old woman's elderly frame as she spared a glance towards her husband lying behind her in the casket was one of the most heartbreaking things Scorpius had ever seen.

It was when his Nanna had returned to her seat, when the eulogist rose to his feet and made his way up to the podium in flowing black and white robes, that Al dropped his head onto Scorpius' shoulder. In an instant, even in the midst of his upwelling of compassion and regret for a man he hadn't known, all of Scorpius' attention, all of the world itself, seemed to focus on their point of contact. On where Al rested his cheek onto him. Upon where Scorpius could feel the warm, seeping slide of Al's magic dripping from him with the overwhelming thickness of his emotion. Or maybe that was just his tears, for as Scorpius watched he saw them arise once more and begin their silent, dribbling trickle down Al's cheeks. He wasn't the only one to dissolve into tears with Nanna Weasley's cries but he was the quietest.

Even from such an angle, peering down at his bowed head, at the pale wetness of his cheeks and the spikiness of his eyelashes, Scorpius thought Al was breathtaking. Even if it was somewhat sinful to consider as much in the funeral setting, he was only thankful that it would seem entirely natural for him to slide his arm around Al's shoulder and drop his own head atop of his friend's. Al seemed drawn into the support he was offered.

It might have been wrong. It probably was wrong. Even so, Scorpius found that Al was at his most beautiful when he needed Scorpius in return. And if that made him selfish... well, selfish he may be. He didn't care. But in those instances at least, Al was about as far from that plainness he strove to be as was possibly.

* * *

Quidditch didn't help. For the first time in his life, Scorpius found that quidditch didn't soothe him in the slightest. He knew his performance was dampened by his distraction, that he wasn't playing as well as he usually would, but he couldn't help himself. Everything was wrong.

It had been nearly two months since Scorpius had last seen Al. Two months since he'd botched up his attempt to confess his feelings in what he now realised was quite possibly the most foolish way imaginable. Each passing day found Scorpius scolding himself all the more for that idiocy.

He didn't know where Al lived. James wouldn't tell him and though he might have been able to ask Mr or Mrs Potter he felt like he... couldn't. Perhaps this was his punishment for his foolishness, that Al would disappear before he plucked up his stupid courage enough to approach his best friend of half his life, to admit his wrongs and apologise profusely. Or maybe it was just fate playing a twisted, sadistic game.

For whatever reason, Scorpius felt like he couldn't ask for help. Like it would be almost wrong to do so, as though he didn't deserve it. He'd gotten himself into the mess he was now in so he should have to be the one to drag himself out of it. It hurt, it was sorely, and he wanted out _now_ , but maybe this really was his punishment?

Scorpius tried to talk to Al at his work. He tried to approach the Malfoy Store three times before he gave up attempting for its pointlessness. The first time was the worst, however. He still had nightmares about that, of entering the sterile- white shop, approaching the bespectacled receptionist and asking to see Al. Of not Al but Draco stepping from the depths of the brewery moments later and approaching him.

Scorpius couldn't keep the scowl from his face when he fastened his gaze upon his father, even if he suspected it fell rather short of the intimidation he was attempting to project. He knew he looked worn, tired, and more than a little desperate. He hadn't slept a night through for days now.

"Father. I wish to see –"

"I know who you wish to see , Scorpius," Draco interrupted, his voice low and deep, almost mellow. Just as it always was. Scorpius wondered what it said of his father that his tone hadn't changed even the slightest since before he'd been fucking his best friend. What did that make him, exactly? "I stepped out of my way to inform you that you will not."

Scorpius was rendered speechless for a moment. Only a brief moment, however, which was all it took for him to become abruptly angry. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Draco raised a pale eyebrow but otherwise gave no indication of his disapproval of Scorpius' outburst. That was noteworthy, too; Draco had never allowed cussing in his house before, let alone his shop. "When Samson informed Albus and myself of your request to see him, Albus expressed his disinclination to meet you. I intend to abide by my employee's wishes."

Flinching, Scorpius felt his lip curl more pronouncedly. "You're full of shit. He wouldn't –"

"But he did," Draco interrupted again. His eyebrow rose slightly further. "I had wondered what was troubling him of late. Have the two of you perhaps had a fight?"

The fury welling within Scorpius felt like a roaring inferno. He had to grasp the cuffs of his sleeves to prevent his fingers from reaching for his wand. "Yeah. We have. And it's because of _you_ ," he spat.

Draco blinked. "I beg your pardon."

Scorpius could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. "Yeah, because of you. Because you're fucking playing with him and he's letting you because he's the sort of person who can't say no to _any_ one. Even a scumbag who's just using him for sex." From the corner of his eye, Scorpius saw Samson the receptionist start slightly, eyes widening behind his spectacles. Scorpius ignored him to stare piercingly at his father. "He's my _best friend_ , and you're fucking tearing him apart. How can you not even see that?"

Draco just blinked once more. Slow and silent blinks, and though his expression was blank, to Scorpius' eyes he appeared stunned. His only motion was to tap a finger just slightly against the side of his leg. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew," Scorpius hissed. "I've known the whole time."

"You never said anything."

"Because I didn't want to hurt him!" Scorpius found himself nearly shouting. His eyes were blurring in tears of rage and pain. "Because for some stupid reason he decided that he'd fuck a bastard like you –"

"Scorpius –"

"- and even though it's the most fucking stupid idea in the world it was his choice. If he decided it then there's no way I'd force him not to, even if you don't deserve him."

" _Scorpius_ –"

"He's too good for you," Scorpius ploughed on. He couldn't even see his father for the wateriness of his vision anymore but it hardly mattered. "He's good, and kind, and the only reason he'd ever let someone like you use him is because he's too nice of a person. You, who's just going to toss him out like a garbage bag when you're done with him because you don't even realise that he's –"

"Scorpius, _enough_."

Draco's voice snapped like a whip. In an instant, as though a _Silencio_ was cast upon him, Scorpius found himself bereft of words. His jaw clicked shut almost painfully, eyes blinking rapidly to vanquish his tears.

His father took a deep breath, schooling his already blank features further. He released it in a sigh that would have sounded weary in anyone else. In Draco Malfoy, however, it sounded merely vexed. "You are acting far beneath your age, Scorpius. What myself and Albus have is solely between the two of us. If you have an issue with it, you will approach either myself or my employee in a formal and composed manner. None of this," he gestured at what Scorpius could only guess was his visible rage, "frustration of yours."

Scorpius found himself speechless for an entirely different reason this time. His mouth flopped open, only for him to feel his lip curl an instant later in a snarl. Contain his frustration? Approach Al and Draco in a 'formal manner'? And just as bad, perhaps the worst part of it all, was how he referred to Al. His employee. Even with reference to their relationship there was no such affection in his words. Was his father truly so heartless?

Words were blurting out of Scorpius' mouth before he could stop them. "Fuck you, you fucking bastard," he hissed, clearly with enough hatred that even Draco's composure couldn't withstand it for his slight withdrawal. Scorpius didn't regret them for a moment. Without another word, he turned and strode from the shop, kicking the door open in his rage. Just before the door slammed shut behind him he heard Draco's calm, flat voice directed to Samson. "Perhaps we'd best have a discussion about –"

That was it. Scorpius didn't hear anything after that, both for the closing of the door and the thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. He was angry. He was _furious_. His father was... he was... _Fuck_ , he couldn't hate him more in that moment had he tried! What happened to the man Scorpius had looked up to his whole life, the respectable, almost regal heir of the Malfoy family who had seemed like a king to his child's mind? What had happened to the moralistic, refined Lord he had been?

Well. He'd fucked Scorpius' best friend and the love of his life for one. Nothing could quite erase that fact.

And Al. What the _hell_? Al wouldn't see him? He wouldn't even let him talk to him? _Why_? Was he angry with Scorpius, or was it that fear that Scorpius had seen in the moments before he'd Apparated away? Was he hiding from him? Did he resent Scorpius for knowing, for having any particular opinion about his love life? Scorpius wasn't sure. All he knew was that he wanted to talk to Al desperately. He wanted it more than anything else in the world.

Only Al wouldn't see him. Scorpius returned to the Malfoy Store and a somewhat muted Samson twice more to be turned aside both times. Not by Draco but by Samson himself this time, who didn't even bother to rise from his seat to disappear into the brewery out the back of the store to convey Scorpius' request. Scorpius was simply deflected. After the rather humiliating third attempt, he stopped. He couldn't do it anymore and it wasn't working anyway.

Scorpius tried to write a letter. He tried to write many letters, actually, but none of them seemed to express his thoughts properly so he discarded them without sending them. What he needed was to see Al, to speak to him in person and discover what the true source of his withdrawal – his damned withdrawal that was more pronounced than ever – was for. Unfortunately, if not at work, Scorpius didn't know how to find him. He didn't even know where to look.

Which was how, two months after their fight of sorts, Scorpius found himself trudging dejectedly through the gates leading to Malfoy Manor. The elation he usually felt from his quidditch practice had abandoned him if it had ever been at all. That itself was something that had been a recurring phenomenon of late. Scorpius couldn't find it within himself to care all that much.

Bobby greeted him at the doorway, stretching her little twig-like fingers up towards the jacket that Scorpius slipped from his shoulders and handed her. He barely spared the little elf a glance, bypassing her to wander towards the kitchen. Food? Maybe food would be good. Was he even hungry? Scorpius wasn't sure.

It was as he was climbing the stairs to his room, only an untouched glass of water in his hand, that he heard the voices. Malfoy Manor was an old house, the walls thin when compared to those like the Potter house. Most of the time, when privacy was desired Muffling Charms were used. Sometimes Scorpius wished he had the bother to move out, if only to escape the presence of his father. Perhaps he could move in with his mother until he found his own place? But no, Astoria Greengrass was a ship that had long ago sailed. Scorpius barely heard from her at all anymore.

Even so, despite the largely disregarding use of Muffling Charms, voices were rarely heard throughout the manor. Scorpius actively avoided Draco, as much for fear of what he'd do if he saw him as because just the thought of happening upon him reared an angry dragon within his chest. As such, it was surprising when Scorpius heard the raised voices. They weren't yelling as such, but through the thin, dark walls of the manor they resounded. Obscured, any intelligibility lost through distance, but definitely audible.

Scorpius stopped on the landing that led to his Draco's rooms, pausing with his foot on the bottom step of the creaking stairs that would lead to his own. The hallway was empty, stagnant and still but for the spinning of dust motes drifting towards the thin rug in the evening light. Or it was still for a bare moment before the door to Draco's room was thrown open and Scorpius' father stepped out.

He looked annoyed. Not angry so much as just... irritated. When he closed the door behind him with deliberate slowness – he almost looked to be coaching himself to do so – Draco paused and ran a hand over his hair. Another brushed at the front of his pristine robes before, with a slight frown and a shake of his head, he turned on his heel and strode down the hallway. In the opposite direction to Scorpius, thankfully. Scorpius doubted that Draco even saw him.

Not that he really paid the thought any mind. He spared only a moment's glance in Draco's wake before his gaze snapped back towards the closed door. Was that...? Was Al...?

Scorpius' feet were moving before he gave them permission to. Padding silently along the length or the runnel of carpet, he paused at the door to his Draco's room. Should he knock? Maybe, but he didn't.

Inside, the room was dimly lit. Not dark, but dark enough that most of the couches, bookshelves and desk were cast in faded shades rather than stark colours. Scorpius stepped quietly inside, closing the door gently behind him and placing his glass of water on the half-moon table beside the door. Then he turned his towards the room.

Draco's rooms were an untouchable entity. Scorpius had been in them so rarely that they almost felt as forbidden as the restricted section of Hogwarts' library. He'd entered several times when he was younger, when he'd followed his father inside, but it was always only briefly. Since then it hadn't been 'restricted' exactly, but the urge to steer clear, to remain outside of Draco's domain, had deterred him readily enough.

The room was the same as it had always been: sparsely furnished, just as the Malfoy Store was, but in a darker palette than the brewery. That darkness was only accentuated by the half-panel timber of the walls, the dark curtains half drawn across the single wide window that revealed the last of the day's dying light. It was more of a study than a bedroom, with the door to the bedroom proper tucked away beside the bookcase almost as though attempting unobtrusiveness. Scorpius catalogued it all in a single sweep before his gaze caught and settled on Al.

He stood by the window with his arms folded before him. No, not folded exactly. It was more like he was hugging himself, as if he were cold, but the late summer warmth should have forbade such a chill, and his casual Muggle clothes were more than enough protection from even the draftiness of the Manor. He was staring unblinkingly yet unseeingly through the window, the play of ruddy light bathing his skin in a wan, pink light. It cast a slight shine off his tears.

He was crying. Crying for only the third time that Scorpius had ever seen him do so. As he had what seemed so long ago, seemingly unconsciously, he brushed a hand over his cheek and wiped aside those that trickled down to his chin. It was useless because, silent and flowing as they were, when Al cried it was in an endless, seemingly unstoppable fall. At such a sight, Scorpius couldn't help but long to cross the room and wrap himself around his best friend. As a friend or a lover, in that moment he didn't even care.

He'd barely taken a step, however, before Al turned towards him. When his did it was to flinch, for Scorpius to feel a slap of magic crackle across his skin as surprise and something like fear flashed across Al's face. He took a step backwards from Scorpius, almost as though he sought to retreat further into the room, only –

"Wait. Al, wait, hold on a second." Scorpius paused in step, raising his hands in placation. He hadn't known if such a plea would work but blessedly, at least for the moment, it seemed to stall Al in place. His face was guarded behind the lengths of his fringe, still just a little scared, but for the moment he'd stopped. Scorpius hadn't realised he was holding his breath until he registered that and found he could blessedly breathe once more.

Closing his eyes briefly, Scorpius drew a deep breath. He didn't know where to start but... "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Al."

When he opened his eyes it was to see as much confusion as wariness in Al's expression. His brow crinkled just slightly and when he spoke it was in a quiet voice. "What?"

"I shouldn't have approached the – the situation like I did," Scorpius said, taking half a step across the room. "I'm not sure which part of what I said upset you, but... I just want to talk to you. Please."

Al was shaking his head, the sight of which caused Scorpius' gut to clench. "No, I – I can't, I'm –"

"Al, please –"

"Scorpius, I can't." Al's voice was pleading, the tears still trickling down his cheeks. His wiping fingers still weren't helping in the slightest. "You'll just hate me even more."

"I don't hate you, Al."

"Yes you do. How couldn't you after what I've done?"

"I don't –"

"I'm so sorry, Scorpius. I'm an idiot, and I was stupid and I shouldn't – I shouldn't have –" Al cut himself of closing his eyes for a moment through his tears. "I can't make you hate me even more."

Scorpius had managed to make it halfway across the room before Al opened his eyes once more. Blessedly, he didn't flinch, didn't make to withdraw. "I don't hate you, Al."

"Of course you do –"

"No, I don't." Another step. "What would make you think that?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Al asked, and his voice was almost angry. Scorpius knew it wasn't truly; there was no crackle of anger in the feel of his magic, only the gentle undulations of grief that had been wafting off of him since Scorpius had entered the room. "How couldn't you? Dammit, Scorpius, I just – with your _dad_ , I –"

"It doesn't matter," Scorpius cut in. He couldn't hear Al say it because then the words couldn't be unsaid. Regardless of the fact that keeping such unvoiced was useless, that it didn't change anything, Scorpius didn't want to hear it coming from Al. Not in that voice, that tone of absolute remorse and self-loathing. He never wanted to hear him sound like that again. "It doesn't matter."

"Bullshit," Al said in barely more than a warble. Somehow the curse didn't sound quite so strong coming from him; it was desperate more than anything. "There's no way you could just –"

"Well, I can." Scorpius took a final step towards Al until he was just within reaching distance. Which he did, hand resting gently upon Al's shoulder. He only flinched a little. "And I do. I could never hate you, Al."

Al shook his head, dropping his chin so that his face was almost completely hidden by his fringe. "Even best friends don't survive things like this. I don't know why I..."

Scorpius couldn't help himself. He knew he shouldn't ask, that he truly already knew the answer, but he had to anyway. "Then why did you? Why did you let him?"

It was a 'let'. Of course it was a 'let', because Scorpius couldn't think for even a moment that Al truly loved Draco. If he had... maybe that would have made the situation better? Or maybe, more likely, it would have made it worse. Scorpius didn't know. All he did know was that no one would be so utterly miserable when they were with someone they loved. Scorpius couldn't believe it possible. He'd never felt that for a second when he was with Al. Even when he'd know about Al and his father, every moment he spent with him was still precious. Al couldn't love Draco, no more than Draco was in love with Al.

Al shrugged under his hand. It was a disconsolate gesture, as weary as the wanness of his face, of the tiredness casting shadows beneath his eyes. "Because he wanted me."

Scorpius heaved a sigh, briefly closing his eyes. He'd known that. He'd suspected as much, because Al wanted to be loved. It was as simple as that. If only Scorpius had known that any sort of love coming from anyone would suffice for at least a time, he'd have grasped the opportunity with both hands. He didn't think himself a fool to believe Al didn't love him at least a little bit as much as he was loved by Scorpius in turn. Even if it wasn't quite in a romantic fashion, there was no denying that they were the closest people to one another. It had been that way for years, even when Scorpius had a girlfriend. It was the main contributor to Scorpius no longer having a girlfriend, too.

If he'd known... why hadn't Scorpius just acted? If he had, if he'd told Al, then none of this would have happened. Al wouldn't be wary of him, wouldn't withdraw from him even more than was his usual. Or perhaps, if it was impossible for something more, Scorpius could have laid his hopes and longings to rest. He doubted he could manage to do so quite as easily as that, but it was a possibility.

Raising his free hand to settle it on Al's other shoulder, Scorpius dipped his head a little in an attempt to catch Al's eye. It didn't work but he tried anyway. "Do you honestly think that he's the only person in the world that wants you?"

Al was silent for a moment before he mumbled a weary reply. It took Scorpius a moment to work it out. "Pretty much."

Exhaustion settled upon Scorpius' shoulders, a heavy weariness that replaced any potential anger he might have felt seemed to weigh him down. Any anger at all that rose at the thought of Draco was swept away, discarded to be replaced by heartfelt regret. Why hadn't he just told Al? He'd known for years about this strange and irrational need of Al's, that it was what fundamentally drove him to put everyone else before himself. Why hadn't Scorpius just up and told him before he'd gone and accepted anyone who spared him a second glance?

Shaking his head, Scorpius sighed. "You're an idiot," was all he could manage.

Al gave a hum of agreement. His hand brushed across his cheeks in that useless gesture once more. "I know. I fucked everything up, and I hurt you in the process."

"I'm not too badly wounded," Scorpius said with a feeble smile. It was a struggle, but he was gratified when Al actually glanced up at him as a result.

Al shook his head, just as wearily as Scorpius felt. The pair of them truly were hopeless cases. "What kind of a friend ups and fucks their best friend's dad?"

Scorpius couldn't suppress his wince. Ah. He'd said it. Damn. It took a physical effort to thrust the echo of those words to the back of his mind. "A pretty shitty one, yeah. You'll have to make up for that, you know."

"Only forever," Al muttered, which, though it was spoken disconsolately, Scorpius couldn't help but feel a touch of relief for. Forever seemed like a perfect idea to him. "I'll get right on that."

"Really?"

"Mm. No more acting like a selfish idiot, even if..." He trailed off.

"I don't think you could ever be selfish, Al," Scorpius said with another attempt at a smile. It died when he saw that Al's endless flow of tears had only intensified. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Al shook his head almost aggressively. "I'm such an _idiot_."

"Why? What did you -?"

"Why do I even care?" His words were faint, barely more than a whisper. "I shouldn't care, not if he doesn't, and I don't, not really, I'm just a... I'm just – "

Scorpius couldn't help himself. Dipping a hand beneath Al's chin he tilted his face up so he could meet his gaze. The pained expression tightening his features was heartbreaking to behold. "What is it? What are you talking about?"

"I don't want to do it anymore but I just don't want him to hate me," Al whispered, and then the tears hitched double time. He closed his eyes as they fell, dripping like rain from his chin. "I don't want to be hated."

The idiot.

The foolish, lovable idiot.

How had Scorpius found himself such a fool to fall head-over-heels for? He didn't know, but it was certainly true. Al didn't love Draco, that much was blessedly clear. So what? He'd followed Draco's whims because he didn't want to be hated?

What an utter fool.

Scorpius didn't feel angry. He didn't even feel rage towards Draco for abusing that fragile bone within Al that had urged him to act as he had. He felt only a sinking sort of... no, it wasn't quite relief, but it was something that felt a lot like it. Relief and a rising, swelling feeling of love. What twisted circumstances could possibly make him feel as such in that moment? After what they'd just discussed, after everything that had happened...

Scorpius didn't know, but he didn't care about his ignorance either. Instead, quite ignoring any inhibitions, any fears that he might be pushing Al away from him, he wrapped his arms around his best friend and held him. Al was frozen for a moment, a long moment as though he were physically stilled in a Freezing Charm. But then he seemed to melt, his arms slowly, hesitantly, reaching up to wrap around Scorpius in return. The warmth of that touch, of that reciprocation, allowed Scorpius to fully breathe for the first time in weeks.

Pressing his head against the side of Al's, Scorpius released a sigh. "Father won't hate you, you know," he began, pausing as Al shifted slightly. It was only to tighten his grasp around Scorpius, however, so he continued. "And even if he does, it doesn't matter. I'll make up for it."

Al was silent for a moment. Another long moment, in which Scorpius wasn't even sure he'd properly heard his words. Then he shifted slightly again. "Huh?"

Scorpius didn't move. He didn't ease his hold of Al, not even by a fraction. "I'll just make up for it. Surely if I love you the most in the world then you don't have to worry about anyone else. Right?"

Al didn't reply. He didn't say a word, but he didn't let Scorpius go either. And maybe it wasn't quite how Scorpius had imagined it. Maybe it could have gone better and they should have talked more, truly discussed what had happened and how they felt and where they both stood. They would have to talk more, to work out what to do about Scorpius' father because something like that couldn't just be swept under the rug. Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly the sort of person to be brushed aside.

Scorpius didn't even know if Al fully understood his words. Did he realise what Scorpius meant? That he loved Al, truly loved him, as more than just a friend? How did he feel about that? How did he feel about Scorpius? None of his questions were answered, but just for that moment Scorpius found he didn't care. They would get to that. Right at that moment he was content to just hold his best friend and the love of his life in his arms and just be.

Something like that... it might be simple, something so plain and ungarnished, but to Scorpius it was the perfect kind of beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [livejournal](http://hp-nextgen-fest.livejournal.com/108296.html).


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